


Between Scylla and Charybdis

by Ms_Anthrop



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Drama & Romance, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mystery, Suspense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-25
Updated: 2020-03-15
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:01:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 45,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22407661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ms_Anthrop/pseuds/Ms_Anthrop
Summary: "Merlin's saggy ballsack, since when has Granger had decent tits?"Their affair started in a ballroom, centred on a series of jewellery heists, migrated to a closet, and became very complicated in the process. Being stuck between a rock and a hard place didn't begin to describe it, especially when Hermione's rock was a blood magic curse and the hard place was Severus Snape. NOW COMPLETEWritten as part of the 2018 round of the SSHG Gift Fest for Cabepfir.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy & Severus Snape, Hermione Granger/Severus Snape
Comments: 196
Kudos: 598
Collections: sshg_giftfest





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Cabepfir](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Cabepfir).



> This story was written for Cabepfir as part the 2018 round of the SSHG Gift Fest hosted over on LJ. It has been expanded and edited since the Fest, and the fantastic prompt will be posted at the end as to not spoil the story. Updates will be once a week. My warm thanks to the Fest Mods for hosting such a wonderful event, the uber-talented Cabefir for much inspiration over the years, and the truly amazing community that helped me both write and polish it into shape. Cheers to J and L who helped alpha the story, as well as Nate and Lolly, my original betas of goodness. Finally, hugs to WT, Fawkesylady and Q_Drew for helping me whip this into far better shape than I ever could have done. In particular, I want to credit Q_Drew for her tireless work with me on this and other items- she's proved to not only be a great writing partner but a lovely friend as well.
> 
> According to Wikipedia "...being between Scylla and Charybdis is an idiom deriving from Greek mythology, meaning "having to choose between two evils". Several other idioms, such as 'on the horns of a dilemma', 'between the devil and the deep blue sea', and 'between a rock and a hard place' express similar meanings."
> 
> This story is rated a hard M, and contains adult language and situations, as well as mild violence. As always, comments and concrit are gladly welcomed. Happy reading!

* * *

**Between Scylla and Charybdis**

**Chapter 1**

"Merlin's saggy ballsack, since when has Granger had decent tits?" Draco Malfoy exclaimed, his expression caught somewhere between intrigued and irritated as he stared across the length of the glittering ballroom.

"Oh, about midway through the winter term of sixth year," Theodore Nott drawled nonchalantly. "Pity she's never met a baggy jumper that she didn't like. Could you imagine how she'd look in an Acromantula silk blouse, gone slightly damp from the rain…"

"…and will you look at that, she has a properly fine arse to match! No wonder the Weasel put up with her for so long."

Pinching the bridge of his nose in a futile attempt to ward off a brewing headache making itself known with the same three-four beat as the waltz currently being played, Headmaster Severus Snape glared down at his charges. Despite the almost dozen years that passed since Draco and Nott had graduated, he found himself in the unenviable position of acting as a mentor to the two unbelievably crass boys standing before him. "Can you at least pretend to possess some pretence of manners when in the company of your betters?" he growled irritably. "I can personally attest that you have been lectured on their importance on more than one occasion."

Reluctantly, Draco drew his eyes away from Granger's finer… assets and met his scowl with a smirk of his own. "Come now, Godfather, we are simply doing what you requested of us: keeping an eye out for anything unusual. And Circe knows that a bookworm of that magnitude having a body like that is quite unusual, indeed."

"And that is precisely the type of puerile sentiment that has kept the lot of you single," he retorted flatly.

Fighting the urge to rub his temples, Snape wished for the thousandth time he didn't have a streak of Gryffindor-esqe masochism in him that was so easily exploited. All it had taken was one pleading, tremulous look from Narcissa, and he had fallen back into old habits; in this case, helping her fix her 'teeny, tiny problem' of her missing heirloom jewellery.

"I don't want Lucius to know that it was stolen," she had confided in him the day before. "You know how protective he is. If he should find out that someone's taken _La Guivre_ , he'll do something truly foolish, and we can't afford to keep him out of Azkaban a third time. Not and keep the château in France, at least…"

_You could have told her no_ , he thought now with disgust. _You could have told her to go to the Aurors or to hire an actual private investigator, not an ageing ex-spy turned overworked school administrator. Instead, you volunteered to look into matters and keep an eye on her wayward bachelor son in the process. So really, who is the foolish one in this drama? Alas, it's not Statler and Waldorf standing in front of you…_

Draco's grey eyes were suddenly keen on his. "So tell me, then, what sort of puerile sentiment is responsible for keeping you single after all this time?"

The question, asked in a fashion that could almost be considered gentle from a Malfoy, still struck him like a slap to the face. For a fleeting moment, he smelt not the jumble of heavy perfumes and beeswax of the ballroom, but the far more elusive scent of lavender and sun-warmed cotton; heard a bell-like laugh and could almost feel the sensation of soft copper strands brushing his arm. _Lily…_ If not exactly a puerile sentiment, then it was certainly an obsession of the juvenile variety that had kept him single for so many years. And while he no longer wished to be chained to that particular millstone, Severus had no notion how to begin the disentangling process. It wasn't as if he'd not tried over the years, but any liaison of his seemed to fade away by the time the season changed.

His head turned, seeking something in the shifting crowd to anchor his thoughts; unexpectedly, his regard returned to Granger. She was smiling at the man standing next to her, delicate hands gesturing wildly as she made some point or another. Displaying a latent sort of awareness, his former student met his gaze calmly enough. Some reaction- curiosity, he thought at first, and then revised it to calculation- flickered through her expression, and the oddity of it made him consider her anew.

It pained him to admit it, but Hermione Granger had been one of the brightest witches to graduate from Hogwarts in the last hundred years. Moreover, she had the cachet of being able to add 'toppled despotic reptilian-led junta before age twenty' to her CV, on top of scoring a highly admirable nine 'Outstandings' on her N.E.W.T.s. And as both Draco and Nott had finally observed, she also possessed a pleasant enough figure when one could see beyond the frumpy exterior. Yet for all that- for all her bright and shining Gryffindor promise- she had ended up as nothing more than an overlooked peon caught up in the never-ending institutional grind that was the Ministry of Magic. Hermione Granger hadn't set the world on fire, or created a cure for Spattergroit; she seemed to be perfectly content in her role as a minor secretary to a mid-level manager.

And for some reason, that left him rather disappointed.

Both Draco and Nott were shifting uneasily next to him. Aware that his mental meanderings had allowed the silence to stretch on revealingly, he sent his godson an icy look of reproach. "Unlike you two… gentlemen, I seek more than a woman with merely a proper arse and decent tits." Dismissing Granger summarily from his thoughts, he continued, "If you've any of that famed Slytherin cunning, you'd do the same. Now get out there and start observing. I've told you enough times what sort of things you need to be listening for. Go."

Nott immediately started for the crowded buffet table, but Draco lingered, a faint whiff of concern wrinkling his brow. "Severus-" Draco began, but he cut the boy off with a peremptory wave of his hand.

"I said go, or I'll inform your mother that you've formed an unfortunate tendré for Ms Granger."

"No need to get shirty," his godson grumbled and glided off to do his bidding.

* * *

The seating arrangements for the supper proved to be most ironic. He was not, Merlin be thanked, seated with his temporary compatriots; they had been put much further down the table, among the fermenting mass of unmarried and unranked pure-bloods and assorted other hangers-on.

Snape, as both the Headmaster of the Wizarding World's most famous school, and as the holder of one Order of Merlin (First Class), was naturally seated in the place of honour next to Alicia Greengrass, the hostess. To his right, however, was the only other person at the soirée that could claim the same Ministry recognised medal of valour- one Hermione Jean Granger.

Alicia had pulled him aside, just prior to entering the room, to warn him, "I truly am sorry, Severus; you know that we'd normally seat you next to someone far more… sophisticated, but the dictates of precedence are rather clear. Her Order of Merlin outranks every other supper guest. Other than you, of course."

By "sophisticated", Severus knew that Alicia Greengrass meant 'pure-blood', as well as someone preferably single and female; it would be quite the coup to be able to boast that you were responsible for introducing the elusive Headmaster to a wife. For his part, he wasn't opposed to such an introduction but could give a tinker's damn if the woman was pure-blood or not.

"If I didn't kill her after six years of insufferable behaviour in my classroom, I am unlikely to do so at your table, Alicia. Don't worry yourself." Casting a jaded eye over the assembled guests, he shrugged. "And she'll be a far superior supper partner to Edward Montblanc-Rowle or Maria Travers, who would have been your other options."

Alicia pursed her lips in a moue of distaste and leaned in a bit closer. "True. If I have to hear Sir Edward ramble on one more time about the breeding habits of his bloody precious crups, I'm liable to shoot one and serve it as the main course just to shut him up. And Maria's laugh does rather remind one of the shrieks of Merfolk once she's in her sherry. It's a pity they come from such illustrious lines."

He couldn't help the smirk that his hostess' comments elicited and decided to prime the pump for further gossip; Alicia Greengrass was the reigning Society Matron, after all, and he needed certain information. "As I said, my dear, Ms Granger will do well enough. It shall be entertaining if anything. I must say, however, that I am surprised to see her tonight. She isn't exactly a regular in this circle."

"No," the woman replied sourly, "but she begged an invite from Daphne at the last minute, and you know how soft-hearted my daughter is. Can't say no to save her life."

Snape raised an eyebrow at this. "Well, keep her away from Draco, then. He's made any number of questionable revelations tonight."

"Narcissa beating the marriage drum again, hmm?" Alicia sent him an amused glance.

"Something like that."

From the double doors of the supper hall, an ancient house-elf rang a gong. Turning to Alicia, he smiled as charmingly as he could manage. "May I at least have the pleasure of escorting you in?"

Offering her arm, Alicia Greengrass returned his smile with a warm one of her own. "Of course. You know, Severus, it's rather nice to see you out and about again. You so infrequently attend anything, and I know it must get lonely in that castle of yours…"

* * *

Dutifully devoting his attention to his hostess during the appetizers, Snape finally turned his regard over to Granger as the second course arrived.

She was a startlingly petite thing, a fact that was frequently overwhelmed by both her riotous hair and ferociously blunt manner. Her dress robes, Severus noted, were of a flatteringly deep blue, the rich midnight hue of it setting off her complexion and hair perfectly. But the fit of silky fabric was off; the shoulder of the gown kept slipping down the creamy skin of her arm, necessitating frequent adjustments. Unsurprisingly, the movement only drew the eye back to the low expanse of her décolletage.

_Christ, but she does have lovely tits…_ Granger looked up from her plate then, and for a moment, he fancied that he saw something altogether smug and amused float through her expression as she caught the direction of his meandering gaze. _Mustn't get caught being a perv_ , he thought a tad guiltily. _Just because one's height advantage allows for the perfect viewing angle, doesn't mean one should use said advantage._

Knowing that he would not be able to pull off 'suave' with this particular woman, Snape settled for snide. "Remind me again, Ms Granger, as to what you currently do. For some strange reason, I can't recall."

That prompted the reaction he'd hoped for; eyes flashing and pointy chin jutting forward, she answered him swiftly enough. "I am the Junior Assistant to the Undersecretary of the Administrative Registration Department. That's within the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, should you not be able to recall that minor detail, either," she added with a supercilious sniff.

Smirking at her ire, he said, "That's quite the mouthful. Secretary would work just as well, you know."

"I shouldn't have to remind you that the proper, gender-neutral term preferred by the Ministry of Magic is 'administrative associate', Headmaster. And for the record, I'm not a secretary. My role includes writing policy, as well as all the speeches for the Undersecretary."

"Fascinating."

"It is, actually. I have plenty of time for my own research and hobbies, and can sleep well at night knowing that I am working hard for the betterment of all wizarding kind." She gave him a guileless, easy smile, and Snape blinked at the Stepford-like response, hoping like hell that it was carefully crafted sarcasm and not the truth.

Whatever it was, he found himself suddenly wrong-footed. For if that was a genuine sentiment, then his desire for a decent supper conversationalist was about as likely to be satisfied as spotting a Crumple-Horned Snorkack on the way to the cloakroom. But if that was sarcasm… well, then, she has rapidly become more interesting. _There's nothing to say I can't find Narcissa's thief and have a bit of fun, too. Let's see how long she'll let this game play out._

"And do your hobbies include the care of a husband and children?" he inquired silkily.

"Not at the moment, although that's something I am currently seeking to remedy." She leaned in, décolletage dipping further, and Snape fought to keep his eyes on her gleaming brown orbs, not the paler ones a bit lower. "I don't mind telling you, Headmaster, but that's why I'm here tonight. I've reached a certain age, and well, I don't wish to become one of those crazy cat women that one always hears about."

_She's got to be having a laugh. Or she's been lobotomised. Repeatedly._ "You are husband-hunting, Ms Granger?" Severus asked, mindful to not let his voice carry, lest Alicia hear and have a heart attack on the spot.

Dimples flashed appealingly. "I am on the hunt, yes."

_Oh, sod it._ Letting his eyes drift down slowly, Severus enjoyed the grand vista being so sweetly presented to him. Her skin was flawless, but for one, tiny, chocolate mole that dotted the luscious curve of her left breast, and Snape wondered at what the reaction would be if he were to lean down and run his tongue over it; somehow, he did not think that simply stating that he thought Granger's breasts would go quite well with the after-supper port would excuse the behaviour with his hostess or the woman in question.

As he dragged his attention upward again, Snape found himself quite certain of two things: he very much wanted to bed Hermione Granger, and she was undoubtedly up to no good.

* * *

It was almost too easy.

Hermione had caught Severus Snape watching her earlier in the evening; her notice had first been drawn by Malfoy and Nott's ogling, the shock etched on their gobsmacked visages infinitely more satisfying than a night off and a good bottle of red. Then the Headmaster's dark gaze had settled on her, less of a leer, and more of a neutral appraisal. She would have dismissed it but for one thing- a subtle flash of emotion just as he turned away. Snape was disappointed in her, and that more than anything had brassed her off.

She'd gotten that look before, from McGonagall and Flitwick and any number of her former professors. Hermione had been one of their star pupils, after all, and was supposed to be someone, and more importantly, do important things- not merely settle for mediocrity. It had been hard enough to field their genuine distress at her choices, but coming from Severus Snape—the only professor who had taken an unholy glee in shooting her down, time and again—it had been supremely… vexing.

When she was then presented with an opportunity for a little payback at the supper table, Hermione had eagerly jumped into the role of honeypot. It was not something that she normally played up; it was far better to be able to fade into the wallpaper when necessary. But Snape was a man, and unless she very much missed the mark, a man with a healthy appreciation for breasts.

His opening salvo had been pure Snape: condescension and spite rolled up in one tidy, seemingly polite question. Hermione had duly responded in the manner that was expected of her, all feminine indignation and hurt feelings… and then neatly turned the tables on him.

"…working hard for the betterment of all wizarding kind." _Hah. Not bloody likely!_

Snape had been utterly thrown by that little ploy, and it served her well; before making it, his attention had been shifting between the various conversations to their right and left and was only nominally on her. But with that one line, all his focus had abruptly snapped to her. And if stunning Malfoy and Nott with the knowledge that she had a good figure had been fun, making Severus Snape acknowledge her as a woman—nay, not just acknowledge, but lust after her—was as heady and potent as the finest elven-made wine.

Which was why it was almost too easy.

It had only taken a mildly subversive comment from her, and a flash of her bosom to make the man sit up and pay attention; she should not have been wildly turned on by the whole exchange. Yet… she was. Very much so.

_And doesn't that just take the cake, wetting your knickers over a former professor? Snape, no less! Clearly, Granger, it has been entirely too long since you've had the opportunity to get a leg over if you have reached such desperate straits…_

_But_ , the voice of fairness and reason noted, _he's not exactly the greasy dungeon bat of your youth, is he? He's greatly improved in looks, if not temperament, and you've always had a thing for the clever ones._

While not a conventionally handsome man, the several stone Snape had gained balanced out both his strong features and form to his advantage; he no longer resembled a walking skeleton with a monstrosity of a nose. Now he was a fashionably lean and broad-shouldered man. While his nose was still a corker, it only made Hermione wonder if that old adage about large noses ran true. _And_ , that same voice whispered, _you'd kill for hair as smooth and shiny as his. And he smells wonderful. And then there's his voice…_

Having finally finished his methodical visual exploration of her chest, Snape offered up the next gambit. "Husband-hunting, hmmm?" he fairly purred. "Well, do let me know if you need a target to practice on, Ms Granger. I would be more than happy to… oblige."

_I just bet you would,_ she thought, trying not to shiver at the promise in his tone. _Should things work out my way, I might just let you oblige me. Repeatedly._

Hermione let her eyes drift over his chest as he'd done to her, taking special care to linger on what appeared to be a pair of rather healthy biceps and well-defined shoulders encased in the dark grey wool. "Tell me, Headmaster," she asked, letting her voice go breathy and channelling her best Luna Lovegood, "how do you feel about cats?"

The brief flicker of befuddlement she saw nearly made her laugh out loud.

"That depends-"

The rest of his reply was cut off as their bowls of soup magically disappeared and were replaced by the main course. _Beef Wellington for two hundred? My, the Greengrasses are not sparing any expense, are they?_

She turned back to Snape, hiding a smile as she took in the precise way that he was cutting up his meat.

"That depends on what?" she murmured, returning them to that matter at hand.

"On how many cats you have." The very corner of his mouth quirked up, and she fancied that he'd noticed her employment of his own dissection techniques to slice through the fascial layers of her beef.

Hermione pretended to give her response a bit of thought. "Well, now, that's a bit of a tricky question."

"Is it now?" Snape took his first bite, and an expression of pleasure blanketed his face. He licked his lips leisurely, and Hermione felt her palms go damp at the blatant show of sensuality.

Marshalling her wits, Hermione only just managed to maintain her focus on their spoken conversation. She said, "You see, I only have half a cat." The Beef Wellington was absolutely divine, the flaky crust serving as the perfect foil for the tender and succulent filling inside.

Snape put his fork down with a muted clink and raised an eyebrow. "Pray tell, Ms Granger, how does one possess half a cat?"

She smirked ever-so-slightly. "When said cat is also half-kneazle, of course." She took another bite, enjoying the way the rich flavours exploded on her tongue. _God, but this is loads better than takeaway in front of the telly…_ "Perhaps you remember him from Hogwarts? His name is Crookshanks."

Amused black eyes met hers. "I am afraid that many felines have come through Hogwarts during my tenure. You will have to be more specific than that."

"He's a large, orange tom," she informed him pedantically, taking another slow bite.

"You always did have a thing for gingers," he rumbled.

_So did you_ , she recalled and saw his own eyes go blank for a moment as he realised that the same could be said of him- and more importantly that Hermione knew all about that particular titbit of his personal life. His comment- moreover her unspoken retort- hung in the air between them, and for just a moment, he looked terribly… vulnerable.

_Oh no, you don't,_ Hermione thought fiercely as she saw his mental shields firm and his expression fall into the severe lines she remembered. _Let's see if this doesn't perk you right up!_

Giving him the same doe-eyed glance that worked so well earlier, she started to twist sidewise in her chair, reaching for the small purse hanging on the back of her seat. Said manoeuvre, naturally, gave Snape a perfect view down her dress to her lacy black silk bustier. "Would you like to see a picture of Crookshanks? I do believe I have one in my purse…"

Hermione gave one more gratuitous wiggle of her chest as she fumbled for her bag and then froze as a strong, hot hand unexpectedly gripped her knee under the table.

Meeting Snape's blazing black eyes, Hermione's heart gave a lurch and then started running at double-time. He was angry at her for toying with him, of that she could tell, but he was equally as aroused as she.

His hand gently caressed her knee before sliding under the hem of her robes and up to the top of her stocking, a shiver skating down her spine at the covert contact. Deliberately, two of his fingers massaged the bare skin of her upper thigh, and Hermione barely bit back an audible moan.

Dark gaze never leaving hers, Snape leaned forward until his mouth was almost brushing the shell of her ear.

"Madame, should you desire to show me a picture of your pussy, I only ask that you wait until we are in private."

Vivid and visceral, Hermione had a sudden vision of him crouched between her splayed legs, those wonderfully strong hands coaxing her thighs further apart as he enjoyed a feast of a rather different sort.

* * *

Snape had the distinct pleasure of watching her bourbon brown eyes go wide with shock, the pupils nearly doubling in size… and then the full impact of what he said hit him like an out of control lorry.

He did not proposition former students; he certainly did not do so in a manner that could be considered both vulgar and crass at the dinner table with two hundred eager onlookers. _What, and where the fuck did that come from?_ he thought a touch frantically, as frozen in place by his predicament as she was.

Then there was a sudden and deafening crash from his other side; reaching hurriedly for his wand, Snape barely managed to remove his hand from underneath Granger's dress without ripping the hem in two. Spinning in his seat, he started to rise and realised only belatedly that unless he wished to demonstrate just how much he was interested in the bushy-haired wench, it was best to remain sitting. Subsiding with a thump, Snape took in the scene of vegetable mayhem littering the formerly pristine table.

"Oh, my!" Alicia Greengrass was exclaiming. "How terribly clumsy of me. I didn't see that the platter of asparagus was so close to the carrot puree!"

_Utter bollocks,_ Snape thought, annoyance mingling with relief. _You caught me ogling Ms Granger, and decided to put a stop to it, post-haste. The only thing that is shocking in this entire debacle is that you were willing to sacrifice both your robes and your table setting to do so._

With a series of muted 'pops,' a veritable army of house-elves appeared to bring the table back to order. "I'm afraid," Alicia began, looking conveniently distraught, "that we will all have to shift around so that everything can be tidied properly. Sir Edward, Maria… Ms Granger- could I impose upon you terribly, and have you switch to the next table so that we may shift away from my mess?"

_Oh, that was neatly done, Madam…_

Alicia smiled sweetly as her three least favourite guests were banished to the lower table, and she appeared a trifle smug as she reoccupied her place.

The look she gave him was faintly chiding as the idle chatter resumed. "Severus, darling, have you met my good friend Emily Jacobs? I think that you would find her most diverting. She just moved back from Spain after a rather nasty divorce…"

Snape answered her mechanically, more focused on the way that his fingers continued to tingle from the silky heat of Granger's naked thigh. There was a part of him that was grateful for Alicia's interfering ways- he had been about to make a fool of himself, of that he was certain- but he found himself decidedly frustrated as well.

_Well, a large part of that frustration can be chalked up to a good old fashioned case of blue balls_ , he mused ruefully. But it was more than that: he could not recall the last time a woman had tempted- and taunted- him into such an uncharacteristic reaction. Control had been his byword for so very long, and yet it had taken very little from Granger to disrupt his focus. _She was playing me… but why? To what end? And more importantly, do I want to let it continue?_

* * *

Hermione's food rather lost its flavour after her move; it was a struggle to do more than pick at the next several courses. She was more than a little shaken by how easily she'd been distracted by the lure of Severus Snape; while it was true that Hermione was here on the hunt, it assuredly wasn't for the husband that she'd implied.

_You have a bloody job to do, and that comes first._ Thinking of what all was at stake- and the consequences that would occur if she failed- Hermione firmed her smile and took a determined bite of her sticky toffee pudding.

"Ms Travers," she said with all the fawning appreciation she could muster, "that is quite the unusual necklace. I don't suppose that it is a family piece?"

The sallow-faced woman touched a possessive hand to her brooch of interlocking snakes at her neck. "Naturally, Ms Granger. It was given to my House by Abramelin the Mage in 1453 for services rendered to the Crown…"

* * *

Hermione was feeling far calmer as she rose from the table nearly an hour later. She'd learned very little of importance, but did have several possible leads; hearing a whisper of robes behind her, she turned, half-expecting to see the Headmaster in all his glowering glory.

She was wrong. Instead, Draco Malfoy stood before her in all of his blond glory.

"You promised me a dance, Granger, and I'll not let you back out of it." For all that his smile was friendly, there was a coldness in his gaze that she well remembered.

"Have you ever known me to break my word, Draco?" she asked sweetly, placing a hand on his lean forearm. _Now, this is interesting… I wonder if he decided to come intercept me on his own, or if this is the further machinations of Alicia Greengrass to keep me away from Snape?_

"Discretion being the better part of valour and all that rot, I do believe I shall decline to answer," he returned urbanely.

She laughed lightly. "My, aren't we playing the diplomat tonight?"

He just gave her that smile again and led her to the dance floor, which was already filling up. As if on cue, the familiar notes of a Russian waltz started, and Malfoy bowed to her politely before beginning the dance.

For a moment, Hermione let herself enjoy the purely feminine pleasure of the sensation of her dress brushing against her legs as she swayed in time with the rich music; Malfoy was, not surprisingly, a very good dancer, and had the decency to stay silent through the first several sections.

"Why are you here?" he finally murmured as he spun her gently.

"Would you believe that I'm husband hunting?" she asked, wondering if the same ploy would work on him.

"No, I would not." His hands were cool upon hers. "You don't belong here, Granger."

Hermione's reply lacked any heat; after so many years, that sort of taunt had very little power to wound her. "Ah, and here I had almost forgotten that I'm not good enough for this esteemed gathering."

"Don't put words in my mouth." As they twirled away from each other, she saw a hint of bitterness colour his expression. "No, what I meant is that you have no use for any of these people, or a party such as this. The Hermione Granger I went to school with didn't waste time on social niceties, nor the accompanying stultifying conversations."

"I'm impressed, Draco. Not only did you use some rather large words, but I do believe that there was almost a compliment in there." _Perish the thought_ , _but Draco Malfoy may have actually grown up. Harry isn't going to believe this._ "As shocking as it may sound, I really am looking for a man," she continued blithely.

"And do you have a description of said man? Shall I help you put up wanted adverts?" With a theatrical flourish, he pulled her against him; her heels rendered them nearly the same height. Hermione's laugh was genuine this time. _I swear he's faster on the uptake then Snape is. Of course, he doesn't seem all that distracted by my bosom, either. Odd, given that he seemed rather fascinated by it earlier._

In a teasing tone, she said, "Who am I seeking? Why, he'll be tall, dark, and fabulously wealthy, of course." _And given who and what I'm looking for, it's God's honest truth._

"Pity. That rather counts me out as I am not the least bit… tall."

Looking into his dove-grey eyes and truly seeing him for the first time since the Battle of Hogwarts, Hermione observed the small signs of age and life that had marked him so indefinably from the callow, self-interested boy that he once was. "Nor Dark, either," she said simply.

He was quiet for several bars before speaking. "Ah… but I am fabulously wealthy. One out of three ought to count for something, shouldn't it?"

"Why else do you think that I consented to dance with you?" Hermione retorted tartly.

"And will you be seeking out my Godfather later? I do believe that he meets all of your stringent criteria."

"Is this where you warn me off, Draco?"

His hands tightened briefly before relaxing. "Again, I ask that you refrain from placing words in my mouth." Smoothly, he spun them out the path of another couple who was struggling with the intricacies of the dance. "No, if my Godfather is really the one you seek, then I have no objections. But if you are here for a spot of fun, then set your sights on someone else. I would be happy to provide introductions if you so wish."

"Your suddenly accommodating nature utterly astounds me," Hermione told him, painting the words lightly with sarcasm.

His reply was shockingly blunt. "I would not be alive today had it not been for Severus, and I will not stand by and watch him get hurt yet again."

_My goodness, that was positively Gryffindor of him. Any more of that and I might actually find myself liking him._ "And you think that I have the power to hurt him?"

The dance ended, and they both made their respective bows. Firmly placing her hand back on his forearm, Draco led them towards the refreshment table. His approach was an oblique one, however, and took them along the length of one long wall. "My godfather is a complicated man, with manners stuck somewhere in the nineteenth century. Now, unless I very much missed the mark, his hand was under your dress at the dinner table. As he is annoyingly pedantic about keeping to proper etiquette, this indicates to me that he found whatever you had to say rather… interesting."

"Oh, I was only telling him about my cat," Hermione interjected brightly, deciding to have a 'bit of fun', as he had put it.

Draco suddenly smirked. "Your cat, hmmm?"

_Clearly, great minds think alike…_ "Why, yes, my cat. He's a half-kneazle."

"How… precious."

"Indeed." It was her turn to smirk.

"Anyway," he said firmly, trying to bring the conversation back under his control, "his reaction clearly demonstrates some level of interest. Given that, I humbly request that you put some thought into your next interaction with my godfather."

Reaching for a sparkling flute of champagne, Hermione used the pause to formulate her response. "I will take care, Mr Malfoy. You aren't the only one who doesn't want to see him ill-used."

Grey eyes met hers again, and for a moment, she fancied that they contained a flicker of warmth. "Thank you, Ms Granger."

Giving her a final, courtly bow he swept off.

* * *

It took another ten minutes to work her way to the balcony overlooking the gardens; the press of cool, damp air felt wonderful after the last several hours of humid and overcrowded environs.

The last of the season's jasmine was blooming, and the sickle moon illuminated the graceful lines and fountains of a Jacobean garden. It was altogether rather romantic and made Hermione oddly wistful. _What would it be like_ , she wondered, _if I really could give the Headmaster's interest thought? If I wasn't here purely to do a job?_

She'd been single for the better part of five years. Granted, Hermione had not been celibate—a bookworm she might be, passionless she was not—but meeting eligible, fascinating men had been very low on her list of priorities.

For a fleeting second, she recalled the heat of his fingers on her bare thigh and the focused gleam in his black eyes. _I would be interested. More than merely interested, as a matter of fact…_

"What," a scathing voice hissed, "the fuck was all that about?"


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Whirling, Hermione's wand-tip was already pointed forward as she glared at the newcomer. "Honestly, Terence, if you need me to explain it to you, then perhaps recruiting standards have dropped further than I thought."

Terence Higgs strode closer, not at all dissuaded by her anger. "What the fuck were you thinking, acting like that at the high table? Do you know how many conversations the two of you provoked by acting like that? And then dancing with Draco bloody Malfoy to boot?! You could not have engineered a situation that garnered more attention if you had set off fireworks and stripped naked for everyone's enjoyment!"

"Oh, come off it. I didn't say a ruddy thing when you almost got caught shagging David Bloomquist last year; I expect the same discretion and trust from you!"

"Comparing the two situations is apples to oranges, and you know it! That was personal, and this isn't!" Higgs rubbed a hand over his eyes for a long moment. "Playing the coquette to gain an advantage is one thing, but in this case? It's madness to try it with Snape. He's the ultimate spy! Merlin, Hermione, why am I even having to explain this to you? It's not as if you didn't have plenty of run-ins with the man while we were at Hogwarts."

"Terence…"

"No. Granger, I know that you are confident in your abilities; hell, after three years of working together, so am I. But Snape… trust me, we never got away with a ruddy thing in Slytherin. It may have looked like it from the outside, but he always found us out and made sure that we paid well and good for it. Always. And now you want to toy with him? It's sheer lunacy, woman, especially given the situation."

"Attaching myself to him would bring me in contact with people I wouldn't otherwise have a chance with and provides me with a bit of cover-"

"Not good enough. Our job is to find the next target and get out. Not to hobnob with the toffs, score a hot date, or otherwise make pleasant conversation." He looked at her pleadingly. "You know that this is a bad idea. Why are you fighting me so hard on this, duck?"

Hermione exhaled, the sharp lance of truth deflating the last of her flimsy argument. "This situation isn't entirely apples to oranges, that's why," she admitted slowly, glancing away. "It's more like grapefruit to satsumas."

Terence blinked in utter astonishment for several seconds as he worked the metaphor as well as the maths. "Wait, you fancy Snape?"

Trying to pull something coherent from the quagmire of her thoughts, Hermione shrugged. "I don't know if I'd go that far. But I enjoyed our interactions far more than I should have. Let's just say that my reactions weren't entirely manufactured." Looking back at Terence, she added dryly, "And I don't think that his reactions were entirely manufactured, either."

"Ouch," Terence finally replied.

"Indeed."

"So now what?"

Hermione sighed, feeling far older than her thirty-odd years. Malfoy's words returned to her then, and she vowed to be doubly cautious; the last thing that she wanted to be was another person to manipulate and hurt Severus Snape. "I stay away from him the best that I can, and we come up with a different approach."

"That sounds reasonable enough."

Narrowing her eyes, she mock-glared at Terence. "No, it doesn't. As plans go, it's utter rubbish and about as substantial as candy floss."

"Hey, don't get all pissy. I was trying to be nice, and you know how difficult that is for me." Higgs smirked, reinforcing his point.

"Oh, shut it. I don't need nice right now, I need clever. Some of that famed Slytherin cunning would come in handy before this evening goes any more pear-shaped."

"And there it is: The Princess of Gryffindor just expressed a definite preference to all things snake." Terence laughed. "But seriously, of all the people to get the hots for, you choose Snape?"

"It's Headmaster Snape," she corrected automatically, a reluctant smile appearing at the evocative by-play; how often had she had to correct her boys? "And I repeat: I don't fancy him. There were possibilities in the air, that's all."

"Liar, liar, pants on fire... in more than one way!"

She punched him in the shoulder. "Jealous that I got closer to shagging a good-looking bloke than you?"

"Hardly. I am, however, more than a bit frightened that you think that Snape qualifies as good-looking. Still, you are right about one thing. If anyone shags a fit and free bloke tonight, it should be me. I'm next in the rota, after all."

She snorted, the romance of the evening wholly vanished. "Alas, it doesn't work that way. Come on, we need to regroup and do a proper bit of planning before we have a go at this again."

* * *

Granger disappeared from the ballroom with the mystery and finality of Cinderella at midnight; Snape made several thorough passes of the space without catching a single glimpse of her or her distracting décolletage.

Her presence—and indeed, sudden absence—went strangely unremarked upon the rest of guests, and he left the gathering in a state of souring grace, discomforted and relieved all at once.

 _You've been around enough Gryffindor tomfoolery to recognise it when you see it, and it's best to steer clear of whatever scheme she's involved in,_ he told himself firmly _. You've enough on your plate as it is, what with Narcissa's demands, not to mention your actual day job…_

Still, as the following week wore on, his thoughts lingered on the woman, intrusive fantasies popping up at the most inconvenient times. He spent the better part of a staff meeting utterly lost after the realisation that the massive oaken table was the perfect height for all manner of debauched fraternisation; Severus could only pray that Minerva had been oblivious to the direction of his wayward imaginings as they'd gone over the next term's timetables. The briefest flash of curly hair in the hallway made his heart beat rather arrhythmically, and his dreams… it had quite literally been decades since he'd spent so much time wanking. Thank Merlin Granger was the antithesis of the frizzy-haired, skinny girl of her youth; he'd feel like a right tit if she wasn't so altered in appearance from those days.

It was worse than pure and simple lust. He found himself ruminating on the unexpectedly sharp angles of Hermione Granger's character, and spent more time than he was comfortable with trying to unravel the oddities of their interactions. She was no more a bumbling hoyden then she was a mindless Ministry drone, and Severus found himself endlessly trying to tease out what her true aim might be. In the end, he concluded that Potter must have put her up to something. Why else would she be attending a society supper? Why would she be seeking his attention in such a fashion? Most importantly, how much of her behaviour had been for show, and what was real?

As he silently swept down a dark Hogwarts corridor on a late-night patrol, his thoughts arrowed unerringly back to the enigma of Hermione Granger. _We run in such different circles,_ he mused, the chill air of the hall sliding over him like a slipstream and calming his thoughts. _The only way that I am going to run into her again is if I engineer the situation, and that will be no easy task given our differences in station. Either I somehow gain entry into one of her groups- I wonder if she keeps to regular enough patterns that I can stage an accidental meeting in something like a bookshop? - or else I manufacture a reason for her to come to Hogwarts. Of course, it could be nothing individual- that would be too bloody obvious- but perhaps lure her here as part of a larger group invitation? The planning team for the Memorial Ball is always seeking new members, and there is also the citizens advisory panel that has a spot open…_

Quite abruptly Severus realised that he hadn't merely been thinking about Hermione Granger for the last week: he had firmly crossed over into the vast wilderness of obsession... and the weight of that particular truth very nearly unmanned him. Stumbling over his own legs, Severus shoved aside the tattered tapestry of Magi Gummarus of Belgium and sunk down onto the stone bench hidden in the niche.

Among other realisations, it was a hell of a time to recognise just how lonely he was.

"I am so fucked," he muttered, slowly banging the back of his head against the wall as he tasted something perilously close to fear. "Fucking fuckity fucker!"

Severus was an obsessive creature by nature. It was a trait that had served him well, allowing him to push past the indignities of early poverty, complete a Potions Mastery with first honours at the tender age of twenty-one, and despite his half-blood status, had provided the lever into the Inner Circle of the Death Eaters.

Obsession had also played a massive role in his downfall. Combined with the swirling internal morass of jealousy, insecurity, not to mention his youthful avarice, obsession had paved the way for Severus to make the most monumental errors of his life. Because it hadn't just been conquering the ephemeral that Severus had been possessed by. From the moment that he had spied her playing on the rusty swings of the Cokeworth playfield, he had been utterly captivated with one Lily J. Evans.

It wasn't that he had thought Lily perfect- Severus was quite aware of the unequal nature of their relationship from the start- but once upon a time, she had genuinely cared about him. Lily had been the lone spot of warmth in his life. Indeed, she had been the only person to offer a hand out in friendship, not to mention a shoulder to lean on during his misbegotten youth.

But things had changed for the worst in their third year. Lily hadn't ever really understood the depth and nature of his sentiment. When finally confronted with the barest hint of his feelings, she had backed-pedalled away so swiftly she might have well as left marks on the Hogwarts flagstones. Then came the fateful day when he'd called her a Mudblood, and their bond was entirely broken.

In the end, Severus' obsession had resulted in her murder. Oh, there was far more complexity to the story, but at the end of the day, that was what it boiled down to. The eventual victory had been a hollow comfort at best and utterly pyrrhic. Post-war, there had been several attempts to move on, but the relationships fizzled faster than a sparkler because Lily remained the ever-present yardstick in his mind. Given his talent for turning everything good into ashes and smoke, he supposed it was for the best.

And now...

Severus hadn't given Hermione Granger more than a passing thought in years. Over the course of a single dinner, she had exploded onto his awareness with all the blinding heat of a supernova. With a teasing glance and the flash of perfect flesh, she had obliterated all his previous constellations; he was left spinning in the darkness of space. And now he recognised the familiar ties of obsession slowly wrapping around him, pulling him into a fresh doom of his own making.

Pitiful and emotionally stunted did not even begin to describe his psyche.

 _She did seem to return your interest_ , said a sly voice in his head. _It could be different this time…_

_Bullshite. I haven't changed one bit._

Severus knew that the shifts in his personality over the years were nothing more than a veneer over faulty foundations; in the privacy of his mind, he remained the obsessive and shockingly petty man of his youth. It did not matter if Hermione was any different than Lily- at the end of the day, the essential flaw was still with him. After all, Severus was the one that had driven his only friend away, joined the Death Eaters, then proceeded to get Lily and Potter killed… and those sins were just the tip of the iceberg.

Should he attempt a relationship with Hermione Granger, he would destroy her as he had everyone else who mattered in his life; as the old saying went, just because you painted a panther with white strips did not magically turn it into a zebra.

 _Fuck,_ he thought despairingly again as he rose from the stone bench. Obsession hadn't just cost him everything that he held dear; it had quite literally left bodies strewn about in its wake. He'd barely survived with his mind and soul intact the first time… and now he found himself right back at square one.

* * *

Burying himself in work was the only panacea, and he clung to the futile hope that perhaps this obsession would fade. And so over the next week, Severus not only immersed himself in the minutiae of Castle life but began flushing out more leads related to Narcissa's missing jewellery.

One such rumour took him to the Hog's Head. Cautiously settling onto a crude wooden stool at the end of the bar, Severus waited for Aberforth to make his way over. At midday, the inn was only sparsely populated, with one corner booth full and a handful of regulars crowded around a low table by a window examining something buried in a wicker basket.

A thunk announced Aberforth's arrival along with a tumbler of firewhiskey.

"I wondered," the older man said with a caustic edge, "just how long it would take you to find your way down and start sniffing around for information."

Snape raised a brow, surprised at the man's acidity. "I've told you repeatedly that my floo is always open to you…"

"So obliging you are, Headmaster."

"Transparency and availability are the bywords of my administration."

The sarky boggerol earned him a snort of sheer disbelief. Aberforth relaxed slightly, leaning into the bar. They did not have a comfortable relationship, not with the shade of Albus standing between them. Still, there was a deep current of understanding; each had seen too much of the dark not to know the dangers of willful ignorance, and neither wished for a return of the past.

Seeing that he would have to be the one to break the ice, Severus spoke. "As you thought, I am seeking information in hopes of returning stolen property to its rightful owners."

"Let me guess: a priceless piece of heirloom jewellery has been snatched from the loving bosom of a pure-blood family, and they have requested your estimable assistance in recovering it."

"That is depressingly spot on," Severus drawled, taking a sip of his drink to cover up his growing feeling of dread; if Aberforth knew that much then he was already hip-deep in Thestral shite and had been totally obvious to it. "Clearly, I am woefully behind in the news."

Taking a leather-bound notebook from a pocket, Aberforth placed it on the bar next to Snape's hand. "You are that. But your cause was not helped by the fact that placing Theodore Nott on the hunt is about as subtle as Malfoy's use of peacocks as lawn ornamentation. Nott needs to learn a decent privacy spell. I overheard him trying to interrogate another one of your snakes about stolen jewellery last week. Combined with the rumours that have been floating around, it was apparent that you had finally been pulled into this mess."

Slipping the notebook into his own robes, Severus suppressed a sigh. "I did, in fact, instruct Theo to nose about like a bull in a china shop, but it seems that I was doing so without the benefit of the most up-to-date intelligence."

"Funny how isolating yourself in an ivory tower will do that."

The comment rankled, especially paired with the knowing glint of cool blue eyes. "Funny, and here I thought that isolating myself in an ivory tower and turning all my attention over to my bloody job was the best choice, especially given how badly the post was neglected prior to my appointment by my predecessor."

Aberforth's expression hardened, and Severus questioned again why the barman was so short-tempered; relations between the two of them were rarely this strained. Finally giving another snort- regrettably, for the other man it was rather hircine in nature- Aberforth glanced away, breaking the stalemate. "You'd not be wrong in that. My brother always did have a very peculiar way of prioritising the people and roles in his life."

"True," Severus agreed. "But if I've learned one thing in life, it is that necessity is a cruel master."

A loud clatter broke into their discussion, bar stools skidding across the floor as something squawked angrily from the basket. "The wee bastard bit me!" a balding man exclaimed loudly, holding bloody fingers to his chest.

"Fergus, what have I told you?" Aberforth bellowed, the crowd around the booth scattering. "For the last time, take whatever is in that basket outside and don't bring it back in!"

"But it's so cold outside-"

"I don't care if yetis have taken up permanent residence in Hogsmeade, I'll not have any more of your blasted creatures in my bar! Get out!"

Snape watched the men shuffle out of the bar hastily, restraining his urge to roll his eyes. Some things never changed. Waiting Aberforth's attention to return to him, he thought over his options, fingering the notebook in his pocket. _He's already given me several leads, but given how ignorant I am about the overall situation, I need to make sure to find out everything he knows. Assumptions will do me no bloody good... at this point, I might as well be painfully blunt._

Knocking back the rest of the whisky, Severus composed his next question carefully.

"Aberforth, what is it that has you so concerned? If this were simply a matter of missing jewellery, you hardly would have done this much legwork for me unprompted."

With a grimace, the other man dropped all pretence along with his voice. "Severus, we both know what happened the last time items like this started to go missing. I'm not going to sit back and watch it all go to pot once more. I've written down everything I've been able to glean from the rumours, and added some supposition of my own," he muttered, gaze flickering down to the concealed notebook. "But the short of it? Prized pure-blood jewellery has been going missing for the last six months, only it's particular sorts of jewellery. As far as I can tell, everything has either links to the line of Salazar Slytherin or heavily features some sort of snake motif along with powerful blood warding. Not a lick of it has reappeared on the black market, even broken up into bits and bobs."

"How many pieces so far?"

"Eight that I know of, but there could be far more."

Granger's heart-shaped face floated through his mind then, and he wondered if the stolen items had anything to do with why she had suddenly appeared in his life. "Do the Aurors know?" he asked, testing the theory.

Aberforth shook his head. "I don't think so. Most of the Aurors are half-blood or Muggleborn; they wouldn't be in the correct circles to be in the know. And besides, do you know of any pure-blood who is going to report that they let such a prized family possession get stolen? These aren't merely expensive baubles, they are the foundational items that pure-blood dynasties are built upon."

"Who was the person that you caught Nott questioning?"

"A lad near his own age. Terence Higgs, I believe."

"He was a curse breaker for Gringotts, wasn't he?"

"Yes," Aberforth affirmed dryly. "Until he was fired for theft a couple of years ago."

"And now?"

"He runs a small antiquities shop off Knockturn that has a reputation for buying and selling things of questionable providence."

"Naturally. I'll give Theo credit for choosing a decently visible target to rattle cages. And speaking of targets, any notion who might be next in line for the taking?"

"Maria Travers has frequently been heard crowing about her family's wealth of jewellery as of late, as well as superior wardings. She is a descendant of both the Travers and the Cornwall branch of the Rosiers, so it's not all paste jewels and grandiose pretensions with that one."

"Rather stupid of her to do so in the current climate."

"She is and always has been a blathering old cow. If I had to take a guess, Travers was doing it to rub salt into the wounds of Alicia Greengrass; they've hated each other for ages, and the Greengrass Manor was reportedly one of the first burgled."

"Oh, joy," Severus said, silently vowing to throttle Narcissa's for dragging him into such a clusterfuck unawares. "How I've missed the refined art of pure-blood politics."

"Why do you think I became a bloody barman instead of continuing to play the family game of societal politics? Only fools would spend upwards of a hundred years listening to that regurgitated shite on a regular basis. At least I kick people out when I tire of their useless yammering."

Severus laughed roughly. "I assumed it was for the drink, Aberforth."

"Easy access to that particular vice didn't hurt, I will admit. Another?" Aberforth motioned to his empty glass.

"No." Rising, Severus placed money on the bar. "As much as I enjoy day-drinking, I apparently need to once again have my wits about me."

Aberforth gave him a sly grin. "Let me know if you ever want to buy me out. Might do you a world of good."

"I think not. Lingering around these parts would hardly be conducive to a life of peace and quiet. No, if I flee, a deserted tropical island is more my style."

"That's your escape plan? You would burst into flame if you were ever exposed to that much sun."

"Better sunburned than surrounded by stubborn drunks and ageing goats as you are."

Aberforth sent the dirty glass hurtling towards a back sink with a wordless burst of magic. "Ah, but then we both know a thing or two about dealing with stubborn old goats, don't we?"

"Unfortunately. Some days, I even feel like one." Narrowing his eyes, Severus let the amusement fade from his expression. "For Merlin's sake, Aberforth, if you hear something else of importance, bloody well tell me. I don't like the sound of this any more than you do, and I am not going to stand around twiddling my thumbs any more than you would."

"I live to serve, Headmaster," Aberforth said mockingly, making a formal bow. Shaking his head, Severus strode out into the weak winter sunlight, new plans beginning to form in mind.

* * *

Severus spent the next three days plotting and doing some fact-finding of his own; the Hogwarts House-Elves were only too pleased to provide him with all manner of information that they had picked up from the students and staff. It was a pleasingly accurate snapshot of the British Wizarding society as a whole. Combined with several other pointed conversations and Aberforth's notebook, Severus felt far better armed as the current status of pure-blood politics. Dutifully dressing in his finest dress robes for the next dinner, he resigned himself to the long haul of an investigation.

Entering the MacMillan ballroom from a side entrance, Severus took stock of the bustling masses. What had appeared to have been a fairly chaotic jumble before now took on different flavour; he could see the various factions and flows of power between the participants, veiled insults and acts of obeisance… the mantle of spycraft settled onto his shoulders with the ease of an old blanket, but it was a weight that deeply rankled after over a decade of apparent freedom.

Hearing a familiar tinkling laugh, Severus turned away from the crowd. Making his way up a set of broad steps to the foyer and coat room, he slipped behind Narcissa as she was removing her outer robe. Helping to ease the fabric from her slim form, he leaned down to whisper in her ear.

"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't wring your pretty little neck, Cissy."

As intended, she jumped with fright, spinning to face him. "Severus! Don't you look handsome tonight? The grey certainly suits you."

The empty flattery did nothing to assuage his anger. "Your little problem has proved to be far from small, madam, nor far from isolated."

She gave him a practised smile, placing a placating hand on his arm. "Oh, come now. You can't blame for wanting your help in such a complex matter."

"No," he growled, allowing her to lead him towards the ballroom, "but I can blame you for being less than honest with me."

Narcissa rolled her china-blue eyes. "It's not my fault you asked only the most basic of questions before you agreed to help! You've become dreadfully rusty at being a Slytherin, you know. Besides, if you had known the true scope of the issue, you would have demanded that we go to Aurors or do something else as utterly ridiculous."

Her blatant disregard for his feelings stung more than he had expected. "I would have helped you regardless, Narcissa. Haven't I always?"

"I didn't mean it as an insult or criticism, darling. You've just become so very… rule-bound in the last decade."

"And why might that be, I wonder? Just once, could you have told me the entire truth rather than obfuscate and bamboozle me into cooperation? Do you have any idea what you have done, woman?"

Cissy finally heard the note of genuine rage in his voice and stopped, appearing startled. "You are being positively Gryffindor about this." After looking him over, she smiled fondly up at him. "Truly, you should be thanking me. This has banished that dreadful ennui that has been plaguing you hasn't it? My aims weren't entirely selfish in this, I promise. It's important that you get out and about more, darling..."

Her voice receded into a background hum as every cell in his body surged to sudden, electric attention. He'd turned away from Narcissa, and let his gaze sweep over the party. There, across the way, Severus made eye contact with the very witch who'd been haunting both his dreams and his waking fantasies: Hermione Granger.

It felt like a punch to the gut, and for a brief moment, it seemed like they were the only two people in the room.

She was dressed in an emerald green gown this time, the heavy, dense drape of the cloth proclaiming it to be made of the finest velvet. It would have been modest- the medieval, long-sleeved gown covered her shoulders down to her ankles- had there not been a long slit exposing one creamy thigh, and another down the bodice that displayed a narrow glimpse of her lush breasts. Her curves had been curated into perfection by a black silk over-corset, and Severus' mouth went dry at the sight.

Her dress was like a red flag to a bull; why else would Hermione Granger choose to wear that exact shade of Slytherin green, if not to send him a message? To gain his attention?

The entire ensemble should have been tawdry and camp, the epitome of Slytherin-styled sluttiness, but on Hermione, it wasn't. Perhaps it was the wild, forceful curls that demanded so much space around her, or maybe it was simply the way her personality shone through, defying all convention. In his eyes, she appeared to be nothing less than the goddess of an autumn hunt come to life- Hecate in hot pursuit of a dark god.

And by all that was holy, he wanted nothing more than to be her Cernunnos.

She was speaking animatedly with Duncan Burke, and the leering bastard's thoughts were clearly travelling down the same path as Severus'. When the man extended a finger to trace down the front of Hermione's corset, something in Severus snapped.

_Mine._

Possessive, hot anger filled him, and he found himself striding through the ballroom at full billow. Vaguely, he was aware of people scattering out of his way like frightened pigeons. In less than twenty seconds, he had crossed the room and was standing in front of Hermione and Burke. The other man took one look at his face and backed away hastily.

Hermione's expression hadn't changed from the bright, slightly oblivious, social smile that she'd been using on Burke. He reflected grimly that it wasn't too far off from Narcissa's earlier simper.

"Dance with me," he demanded, voice close to a growl. As if on cue, the orchestra struck up a waltz.

For a painfully long second, she didn't move.

And then, like an imperious queen, Hermione's arm came up. She allowed herself to acquiesce. He took her delicate hand within his own, making sure to keep his touch gentle. As their fingers met, she sucked in a quick, ragged breath, and Severus was comforted by the knowledge that he wasn't the only one affected by the electric madness that arced between them. Some of the anger roiling about him abated at the tell, and he pulled her close. Walking them to the edge of the dance floor, he bowed. She curtsied in return, the music swelled around them, and they were off.

After nearly two weeks of thinking non-stop about Hermione, it was such a relief to hold her, even within the limitations of a public waltz. The slight but real press of her body against his was welcome torture, and he drank in the small details of her person that he had missed before.

Hermione met his blatant perusal with one of her own, fathomless eyes sweeping over his lean frame. To his surprise, she did not wear any scent or perfume. Only when he spun her into a dip did he catch the faint, warm smell of her skin. It brought to mind moonlit bedchambers and his fevered dreams; Severus was suddenly grateful that he had chosen to wear wizarding robes rather than a closer fitting Muggle tuxedo. Fighting the urge to yank her off the dance floor and into the nearest private room, he closed his eyes and solely focused on bringing his breathing under control.

Opening his eyes again, he caught the scandalised and censorious expression of someone in the crowd. A renewed wave of anger rolled over him, followed closely by shame.

 _So much for my vaunted notions of self-control, not to mention any pretence of proper decorum…_ Severus knew that he was acting little better than a possessive, adolescent brute. He didn't know what had disgusted him more- watching another man touch Hermione or the fact that he had no command over his emotions around her. At a well-worn fifty, he should have far more self-control than he was currently displaying. _Moreover_ , he reminded himself censoriously _, I have no claim over this woman..._ For a multitude of reasons, it was too dangerous to allow his behaviour to remain unchecked; reaching for the cold chill of his mental shields, Severus ruthlessly pulled them into place.

It had been a long time since he'd donned this level of occlumentic shielding, and it hurt to do so, especially unprepared. The all-encompassing sensation was not unlike leaving one's hand in a bowl of ice water for too long, and the world seemed to darken, grow flat and less welcoming. Then he was numb to his feelings, and oddly, that also hurt.

As if sensing his distress, Hermione's thumb slowly stroked his, once, then twice, the subtle motion hidden by the movement of the waltz. It was more comforting than sensual.

"This is a very poor idea, Headmaster," she said, voice pitched low enough that the other dancers could not hear. She still wore a brilliantly false smile, head cocked at a teasing, flirtatious angle. Perhaps she was referring to their dancing together, or maybe she was making a less obvious reference to a relationship. Hell, maybe Granger was merely pointing out that shoving his soul into cold storage was a poor idea; regardless, they were all choices that led to nothing but trouble.

"Don't I know it," he rumbled in affirmation, seeing an answering flicker of sorrow in her gaze. The next few steps found them in perfect, miserable harmony.

Repeating her gesture of comfort, he let his thumb trail down to her wrist and back again. They remained silent, and he watched with a detached sort of curiosity as the bourbon brown of her eyes slowly darkened to a dull espresso. Granger was occluding as well, he realised with a dull horror.

Looking away from her, Severus focused mechanically on the steps of the dance. It wouldn't do to stumble now.

* * *

Narcissa was waiting for them with champagne when the waltz ended; to his mild surprise, Lucius was at her side, appearing suavely annoyed.

"Severus, you naughty man! You left me standing quite all alone in the foyer, and I was forced to appeal to my husband for rescue."

"You both seemed to have survived the experience," Severus drawled, wondering how on earth Narcissa had dragged the elder Malfoy to this supper. The man had not taken to his loss of status and influence well; whilst he still had a decent circle of friends to socialise with, it had taken years for him to finally submit to the bitter sentiment that it would be best for Cissy and Draco to publicly represent the House of Malfoy rather than him. He usually avoided events such as this like the plague, seeing them as a waste of his time.

Narcissa's blue eyes slid over to Granger. "Ms Granger. What a surprise to see you here. Weren't you just at Alicia's dinner last week?"

Granger beamed like a demented puppy at the hostile greeting. "What an excellent memory you have, Mrs Malfoy. I was." And then in a spot-on mockery of Narcissa's examination, Granger let her eyes trail over to Lucius. "And Mr Malfoy! How surprising to see you out and about. Time certainly flies, doesn't it? I hadn't realised that your house arrest had ended already."

Malfoy sneered at the veiled insult, hand tightening over his cane. "Basic maths can't be everyone's strong suit, my dear."

Granger chuckled, the sound light and insubstantial. "You are so very right! Well, it appears that your confinement was for the best- one would hardly think that you've aged! Avoiding all the damaging free radicals in the environment does wonders for one's skin, doesn't it?"

A roar of honest laughter sounded from behind him, and Severus turned as Draco swooped in to the rescue. Deftly plucking the two glasses of champagne from the hands of his mother, Draco proffered one to Granger. "Cheers," he said roguishly. "That was a magnificently crafted barb on several levels. I am quite impressed, Granger."

"Was it?" Granger remarked casually, sipping the champagne with studied indifference. "In that case, my prime directive in life has finally been fulfilled."

"Excellent. Put your knives away and let's go celebrate." Waving an arm towards the rapidly filling dancefloor, he added, "Ah, a Scottish reel. My favourite. Do come along. I think that you will find that reels are so much more invigorating than waltzes."

Granger raised an elegant brow and did not move. "And if I don't care for any more dancing?"

Not at all deterred, Draco expression turned smug. "Then we can go sequester ourselves in a dark corner, and you tell me more about your… cat."

Rolling her eyes with evident exasperation, Granger wordlessly floated her glass onto the tray of a passing house-elf. "I can't imagine why you are so interested in learning more about my pussy, Draco."

Utter silence reigned for the space of three heartbeats.

The shocking retort had all the effect of a physical impact; Narcissa's jaw dropped open quite unbecomingly, and Lucius went red-faced, sputtering with rage. Even with his reaction filtered through his strongest occlumentic shields, Snape couldn't help but feel a burst of horrified humour at Granger's quick-witted, pointed retort; it certainly halted all questions as to why Granger had chosen to attend this event. To his surprise, Draco's expression only shifted into a pensive sort of amusement.

"You really are frighteningly diverting tonight, Granger. Come walk with me." Draco extended a hand, an echo of Severus' earlier action without the demand. "Please."

"If you insist," Granger murmured, ratcheting up the wattage on her smile once more. "I don't suppose I could prevail upon you to introduce me to several people?"

"Gladly." Sweeping Granger away with a flourish, Draco hastily disappeared into the depths of the crowd.

Narcissa had finally pulled her expression back under control, but Lucius still appeared to be choking on his own bile.

"That was... unexpected," she said at length.

"Was it?" Severus asked, a bitter apathy flavouring his tone.

Surveying the gawking guests around them, Narcissa spoke bracingly to Lucius. "Darling, Alicia and Joan are headed this way at speed. I promise you that you don't want to get trapped by our little discussion. Why don't you go fetch more champagne and rescue Severus and I after a decent interval? And do fetch the good stuff this time. I do believe that we all have earned it."

"As you wish." Lucius took off like a Snitch being chased by the proverbial Seeker.

Severus raised a brow. "Now there is a surprise. That gambit was as effective as a banishing spell."

Smoothing her down her robes with perfectly manicured hands, Cissy gave him a tight smile. "It wasn't a gambit, it was part of a plan. I informed Lucius that _La Guivre_ was missing, and if we wanted it back, we would be doing things my way for once."

"And that call to cold logic worked?"

"For now, he is cooperating."

"And pray tell, why am I not being allowed to escape along with your husband?"

"Because," Narcissa replied chidingly, "you indicated not twenty minutes ago that you wished for a higher level of honesty to exist between us. I've arranged for you to speak with several of the other women who are missing items so that you can hear their stories first-hand."

"Huzzah," Snape said flatly. "I am so pleased that you've seen the light. Can you also see fit to find us a more private place to speak?"

* * *

Snape remained firmly in Narcissa's clutches for over three hours, questioning six society matrons. What he learnt was not comforting; most of the jewels stolen had been well-guarded, and there were no apparent clues as to the manner or persons behind the thefts.

Elizabeth Selwyn was the last person he spoke to. In her eighties, she was graceful and dignified, reminding him strongly of Minerva. Having lost a husband, several brothers, and two sons to the pure-blood cause, she was blunt about her concerns.

"I am a historian, Headmaster, not to mention a practical woman. Given more recent events, it stands to reason that once again, some puffed-up jackanape thinks that great power or immortality awaits him if only he steals the right object, much to the detriment of the rest of us."

"Have you heard anything lately that might connect to these thefts?"

She made a moue of distaste. "There is always some rumour or another floating about. You know how it is. Several years ago there was a supposed prophecy going around about the restoration of bloodlines, but a group of us wives firmly nipped that nonsense in the bud." Making a slicing motion with her hand that made him want to cross his legs, she continued briskly. "There are more women left than men, you know, which shifted the balance of power over to us. To be frank, we are all heartily sick of death cults masking themselves as social movements and then making off with too many of our loved ones."

"As am I, madam."

Selwyn gave him a sharp nod. "Good."

"Has there been anything about these thefts that strike you as peculiar?"

"Only that specific pieces are being taken, and not entire collections. You would think that once the thieves made it past the protections, they would simply take all valuables, but that has not been the case."

"That is an interesting point," Snape conceded. "It certainly speaks more to a particular motivation driving the thefts rather than base greed."

"Just so."

"Out of curiosity, have you changed any of your protections?"

"Only established entirely new blood wards and chosen stronger ones at that." She gave a self-deprecating chuckle. "Well, and one more thing. For the first time in my life, I've broken my prohibition on animals in the bedroom. I've taken to letting my Crup, Alfred, sleep at the foot of my bed. He puts up quite the satisfying fuss when anyone tries to enter. It may be shutting the barn door after all the Granians have flown, but having him there allows me to sleep a touch easier."

* * *

Snape leaned against the wall watching the colourful rise and fall of the dancers, letting his mind wander along with the music. He had gained information aplenty, but it was unclear what was of genuine importance and what was mere chaff. Short of being called to the scene immediately after a theft, he was doubtful that he would be able to shake out any significant revelations about the person or persons behind the crimes. It would take weeks, if not months, to come to any sort of resolution, and he resigned himself to the familiar and frustrating quandary of a waiting game.

 _What next?_ he mused, and then stiffened slightly as Draco came to stand next to him.

"This certainly has been an interesting evening, has it not?"

Snape slanted his godson a hard look. "If by interesting, you mean in the Chinese fashion, which is to say cursed, then yes. It has assuredly been an interesting evening."

Smirking, Draco leaned a shoulder against the wall. "Well, we wouldn't want anyone to grow bored in these peaceful times, would we?"

"Don't get too cocky, boy. Your mother is going to make you pay for that juvenile by-play with Granger later."

"Oh, I don't know about that. She's rather distracted at the moment, and you caused a far bigger stink than I. Everyone saw your boorish behaviour. For my part, no one was actually close enough to hear what we were saying."

"Ah," Snape drawled, "At the moment, I am the one doing your mother a rather large favour, and she knows that she can only push me so far as a result."

"If you say so."

"I do."

"Speaking of Granger-"

"Can we not?" he asked, a feeling of dread creeping upon him.

"She has done a capital job of distracting and entertaining the masses tonight, hasn't she?" The playful edge left Draco's voice and was replaced by a more sombre tone. "It's almost as if she was doing it on purpose. Just what is she playing at?"

"I haven't been paying attention to her."

Draco made a sound of disbelief. "Like hell you haven't."

Severus turned to face his godson. "Have you seen any reaction from me during the last three hours to indicate that I have been paying attention to her foolish antics in the slightest?"

"No," Draco answered, not backing down. "But just because you haven't responded to the queue of men flirting and ogling her doesn't mean you haven't noticed."

He had most definitely noticed. Despite the heavy use of occlumency all evening, it had made his blood boil to watch the steady stream of men vying for her favour. Some had been simply curious to see how far they could get with Granger, he knew, and others had seen his reaction earlier and hoped to get under his skin. Only the recollection of her words as they had danced- _This is a very poor idea, Headmaster-_ had kept his feet and fists grounded. He would resist the clarion call of obsession this time if it killed him.

Draco broke into his grim reverie. "I do find her behaviour tonight terribly curious. She clearly wanted to dance with you, and yet was reluctant to do so; in the same vein, she was eager to capture the attention of the crowd, but made sure to say something outrageous enough to separate herself from you and my parents."

"In my experience," he grumbled, unclenching his jaw with effort, "women can be quite capricious, and I hardly think it would be worth the effort to try and work out Granger's _raison d'etre_."

Keen grey eyes met his, and Snape could see a hint of pity in Draco's gaze. "I disagree. I know why we are here. The question remains, what is Grange's reason?"

* * *

She was hiding.

Thank fuck the MacMillan's had a well-appointed ladies retiring room. Using the specious excuse of needing to powder her nose, Hermione had fled the ballroom and promptly locked herself into the farthest stall from the door. Her cheeks hurt from the constant smiling and simpering, and after spending a night with Wizarding Britain's supposed finest, Hermione was in favour of a mass humanoid extinction, post haste. If she had to deal with one more man trying to grope her arse or feel up her tits, she would bring the entire sodding estate to ruin via a quick application of fiendfyre.

Pulling a galleon from her clutch, she tapped her wand to it, hoping like hell she'd finally see confirmation that Terence had finished the job and she could finally leave. It warmed with a message, and she tensed.

_Can't get past the final wards on the safe. Do you want to give it a try, or do we call it an evening?_

Hermione nearly threw the coin to the floor with rage. "Do I have to do absolutely fucking everything?" she muttered, frustration making her wand shake. _Breathe_ , she told herself sternly. _Anger will get you nowhere, and my decisions need to be made with logic, not emotions. It's not as if Terence is deliberately trying to fail just to torture me._

They had to break into the MacMillan's safe, and this was the last public event the family would hold before retiring to their Scottish holdings for the holidays. If they wanted to get at the jewels, it was now or never.

 _I will try_ , she responded. _But you'd better play watchdog in the hallway. I did my job a little too well tonight to trust that someone won't try and follow me in hopes of a quick shag._

Terence's reply came immediately. _I told you that the dress was a step too far._

And then two seconds later: _Are you alright?_

 _Breathe,_ she ordered herself again. _Just breathe_. After all, it wasn't Terence's fault he'd been right, and he had tried to convince her to change it. Recalling Snape's expression upon catching sight of her, she mentally flinched. Even after making the choice to avoid the Headmaster, there still had been a part of Hermione that had wanted him to notice her… but not like that. When their eyes had connected, she had belatedly realised that she had been lying to herself; there had been far more than just possibilities between them.

Ignoring his comment, she sent back a question of her own. _What protections did you find so far?_

There was a decent interval before he answered, listing a half-dozen common wardings. _But,_ he continued _, there is some sort of apotropaic warding crossed into an ansuz blood tie that is giving me fits._

 _Fine,_ Hermione wrote back, _leave them open and I will see what I can do._

_Got it. Leaving the room now._

Standing up, she stretched, wincing as her back popped. Sitting hunched over on the loo for so long clearly hadn't done it any good. With a flick, Hermione applied the most robust do-not-notice-me charm that she dared and slipped from the stall. Thankfully, there was no one else visible, and she was able to make her way to the back hall unobserved.

Terence was nowhere to be seen.

_Bollocks! This is the last thing I need tonight. Where is he? Has something happened?_

It was a risk to charge ahead without knowing that the coast was clear, but it was even riskier to stay in the open where she might be spotted by the leering mob. Sliding behind a large potted fern, Hermione felt for the charmed galleon. Cool metal met her fingers, and she bit back a sigh. No message, then.

Peering down the dark corridor to the brightly lit ballroom, Hermione decided that enough was enough. _If I get caught, I'll just have to brazen it out. After my behaviour tonight, that shouldn't be too hard. I imagine that people will be shocked if I don't get caught with someone in a compromising position._

On silent feet, she entered the deserted library, the air redolent of old books, leather, and cigars. Casting a series of warning charms, she made her way to the doorway at the end of the room. The door was unlocked, and as she eased it open, Hermione drew her wand just in case.

The cramped office was vacant.

Sighing in relief, she sent out a quick burst of detection spells; oddly, two of the walls lit up with magical residue. _What have we here?_ she wondered as she touched the dark wooden panelling. It wasn't the expected safe, but a shallow priest hole. Blinking in surprise, she studied the dusty space.

 _I suppose as we are in the wizarding world, it's not a priest hole,_ she thought idly, _but just a garden variety secret chamber._ Stepping in, Hermione saw that there was a narrow horizontal slit charmed into the wall so that the occupant could spy out to the desk and cabinet.

_Interesting..._

Crossing the room, she ran her fingers over the other wall that had lit up until she found the seam in the panelling. Pulling it back, she revealed the family safe. Traces of Terence's spells remained, and Hermione carefully wiped all traces of his magic before attempting to unravel the protections.

They were an unusual and creative combination of spells, and Hermione could understand why Terence had struggled with them. Still, she had an advantage—apotropaic wardings typically responded better to female casters, rather than male.

Just as the spell began to loosen, her first warning charm sounded. Someone was approaching the library. Hermione froze, holding her breath. If someone discovered what she was up to at this moment...

To her horror, the second one alerted after only the briefest pause. With a hurried flick of her wand, she put up a reasonable facsimile of the protections and closed the panelling as the third and final charm went off; someone was feet away from the office door. Rushing to the front of the desk, she plopped herself down, grateful the surface was at least clear of pointy objects.

The door clicked. Opened. Her heart felt like it was making a credible attempt to pound out of her chest.

Severus Snape strolled in, menace rolling from him in waves.

"I do believe, Ms Granger, that you rather owe me an explanation."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N~ If you can't tell already, dear readers, this will not be a smooth ride...
> 
> A million heartfelt thanks to everyone who kudo'd, followed, and commented on the first chapter. It's humbling and thrilling all at once to see your reactions!
> 
> If you caught the Cernnuous/Hecate reference and were like, 'huh? those two don't really go together! Stop mixing up your mythologies!', know that it's a fandom shout out to one of my very favourite SSHG stories, 'The Witchhiker's Guide To Beltane', by the magnificent TeddyRadiator. If you haven't read it, do so immediately. It's the kind of story that I aspire to write someday!
> 
> And speaking of fandom joy, there is a really cool charity relief drive for Australia going on right now called Fandom for Oz- https://fandomforoz.livejournal.com/ . Similar to movements like Fandom Trumps Hate, this will be raising money for various charities that are supporting the Australian bushfire recovery efforts. Basically, fandom artists of all stripes will offer their services to the highest bidders, with all of the monies raised going directly to one of ten charities. I will for sure bidding on some commissions, and will likely be offering my services as writer and beta as well. So if you've ever wanted to get a personalised bit of fandom created for you, or otherwise want to support the Australian bushfire recovery efforts, check it out, and please spread the word!
> 
> Happy reading!


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

As the evening wore on, Draco's words ate at him like well-aged armadillo bile.

Snape surveyed the ballroom with a jaundiced eye and came to several uncomfortable conclusions. First, Draco was correct- there was something inherently fishy about Granger's unexpected appearance. He would be a fool to ignore his intuition on that point. The Hermione Granger that he had been interacting with—the woman he was unexpectedly so obsessed with—was at extreme odds with the war heroine and Hogwarts student that he had taught. And while age and time could excuse some of those changes, there were enough wildly waving red flags that it was little wonder his mind had refused to let go of her.

The student-Granger had been driven by a compulsive need to prove herself, put an inordinate amount of faith in books and learning, and was loyal and protective of her friends to the point of near-fanaticism. Although he would never admit it out loud, Snape had been jealous of the unbreakable bond between Potter and Granger; the boy could behave like the worst sort of pig-headed, reckless idiot, and Granger always forgave him. The kind of unwavering commitment was rarer than a winter-blooming Pritcher's Porritch, and he'd wondered more than once what it would be like to be the beneficiary of such devotion.

And this Granger? The flirting, facetious, faux-debutante who had so fascinated him? She clearly had a facile mind and sharp wit, but that only begged the question as to why she was wasting her time by slumming it with the supposed best and brightest of pure-blood society. Indeed, her words, even taken at purely face value, did not match up with her actions. What had she told him that first night? She was 'on the hunt' and had no wish to become a 'crazy cat woman'. He had been the one to call it husband-hunting, but her actions that evening, as well as now, indicated something entirely different. Snape could possibly buy that she was looking to take a lover—certainly, her dress and coquettish manner could easily support the supposition—but it struck him as very odd that she would conduct that kind of search in such a public fashion.

It all led back to the same question. Why had Granger suddenly appeared? Could her 'hunt' be related to the very same jewellery thefts that had drawn him in?

The theory made the most sense. Given that it was all but public knowledge that multiple families had been burgled, it also stood to reason that the Ministry had finally sent the Aurors in to investigate. From there, it wasn't a leap to assume that Potter was involved, and he had accordingly wrangled Granger back to his cause. Merlin knew the girl-Granger had done his homework enough times over the years for him to return to familiar patterns as an adult.

 _Five minutes,_ he thought with no little frustration. _I just need five bloody minutes alone with Granger, and I could get to the bottom of this mess!_

Glancing around, he looked for Granger, but to his surprise, she was nowhere to be seen. After an evening of being conspicuous to the point of ridiculousness, she had once again vanished into the ether.

 _Where the hell is she?_ he wondered with mounting frustration.

Carefully scanning the crowd, Snape saw no trace of the Gryffindor minx; there was only the usual assortment of drunk husbands, plotting wives, lovesick youths, and swaggering lads milling about. His eyes were eventually drawn to a small scuffle by the back hallway. Squinting, he tried to make out the faces of the two men arguing, but their faces were blocked by the leaves of a large potted plant.

The taller of the two stepped back, throwing up his hands in disgust. It was David Bloomquist, he finally recognised, surprised to see the Gringotts financial analyst at a frivolous event like this. Bloomquist hissed something to the other man and started to walk away. The challenge drew the second man out from behind the leaves, and Snape felt a frisson of surprise when he was revealed to be none other than Terence Higgs.

_Well, now… isn't that an interesting coincidence? Aberforth mentioned that he'd taken the shady path, and here he is, looking rather suspicious. And wasn't there some gossip about he and Higgs being involved last year?_

Higgs gave a despairing look down the hallway and then towards the quickly departing figure of his former paramour. Biting his lip, Higgs strode after Bloomquist, leaving the archway unprotected.

The shadows of the dark hallway seemed to call to Snape, and he suddenly wondered if Granger could be found somewhere down the secretive length. Was it a coincidence that Higgs and Bloomquist had been standing there? Knowing that his mind wouldn't rest until he'd found out, he cautiously made his way over and slid within the enveloping gloom. Other than several snoozing portraits, the corridor was quiet, and he could vaguely see a pair of doors at the very end, capped off with a sizeable mullioned window.

Snape tried the left-hand door first. The moonlit room beyond was nothing more than an empty day parlour, the scent of flowers, an earthy muskiness, and lemon beeswax irritating to his nose. Fighting back a sneeze, he opened the second door. Unlike the other room, it was a masculine abode full of bursting bookshelves, long leather sofas and maps of all kinds. It too appeared empty, but the faint pulse of magic betrayed the presence of another person. Entering the library, he searched for the hidden source of the spellwork. As his eyes adjusted to the dark room, Snape finally spotted a narrow passage towards the back.

He opened the door to a scene ripe for exploitation: the concealed room had been made into a small, cramped office, and even from the doorway, he loomed over the sole occupant. Hermione Granger sat perched on a wide wooden desk like a pin-up model, her expression strangely solemn rather than seductive. Any smugness at finding Granger was dissolved by the odd feeling that he was only seeing half the picture. Still, he forged ahead.

"I do believe, Ms Granger, that you rather owe me an explanation."

His statement hung heavy in the air; Snape had deliberately called forth his professorial persona as he intoned the challenge. Granger didn't flinch at the implied threat. Taking another step forward, he let the door click behind him. That too got no reaction. It was telling, a shift from the girl she had once been, and his curiosity was further inflamed—not to mention his ire.

"Why are you here?" he asked, keeping his voice low as he prowled closer.

She watched him with a measured, guarded gaze even as the pulse at the hollow of her throat raced. "I answered that question weeks ago."

"You've given me an answer, yes." He stood close enough that he could feel the heat rolling off her body, and it broke through some of the chill brought on by occlumency. "And I would even wager that you gave me a truth or two. But I am no closer to comprehending that particular why than I am to understanding the sudden hold you have had over my attention these last few weeks."

"At the risk of being rude, that sounds like a personal problem to me, sir."

"It is, rather," he agreed with apparent equanimity, not missing the honorific that Granger had tagged onto the end of her statement, and how each was attempting to change the dynamic of the conversation. "And I was prepared to deal with it as such... until this evening. Ms Granger, do you know why I am here?"

"I rather imagine that keeping Draco in line requires a team effort."

Snape smiled faintly. "That it does. Thankfully, he is no longer my responsibility. No, I am here because approximately six months ago, pure-blood jewellery began to go missing, and I was asked to investigate."

"Fascinating."

"Not really. I believe that the phrase, 'same shite, different day', would apply in this situation." Leaning against the corner of the desk, he went on. "I don't believe overmuch in coincidences, and in the last week, I've uncovered several… and more than a few of them involve you."

A cool brow went up. "If that's what you've come up with, it sounds more like you've taken to concocting conspiracy theories."

"Tell me, Ms Granger, is it a coincidence that you suddenly appear in the midst of pure-blood society just as an outbreak of residential burglary occurs?"

That decidedly ruffled her feathers. She rose from the desk, standing toe-to-toe with Snape. "Just what is it that you are accusing me off?"

"Why are you here?" he repeated, playing his authoritarian role to the hilt.

"Tell me, Headmaster Snape," she spat, temper causing her eyes to spark, "if you've spent so much time analysing my actions, why do you think that I am here?"

"As I see it, there are two likely possibilities. Either you are behind the aforementioned heists-"

"How dare you accuse me of being a bloody jewellery thief!" she erupted, and he ignored the interruption.

"-or Potter once again has you doing his homework, and you are investigating matters just as I am."

Her mouth opened, and for a count of five, no sound emerged. Then she made an odd sort of wheeze and bent over double. Snape stared at her with consternation until a giggle echoed up, and then Granger was laughing wholeheartedly, her body shaking with mirth.

"Christ," she gasped, wiping away tears, "A black-hearted bandito or Harry's long-suffering minion? Those are the only two options your brilliant brain came up with? And here I thought I was subject to flights of fancy…"

She continued laughing, and Snape felt a wave of hot embarrassment wash over him. It wasn't as though the theory was all that far-fetched; hell, even Draco thought something nefarious was afoot. Glaring down at her, he waited for the impertinent chit to regain her composure.

"You want to know the truth?" she finally asked, wiping her face with a hastily conjured handkerchief. "I'm bored. Full stop. Tilting at windmills seemed better than doing sweet fuck all. I turned thirty in September, and while I am grateful to reach every birthday, this year… well, for the first time, getting older was difficult." Her expression sobered, and some of her earlier anger returned. "Believe it or not, I do know what everyone thinks of me, stuck in some dead-end Ministry job, and a single witch to boot. I've seen the disappointed and pitying looks everyone has given me. The whispers of wasted potential have reached my ears many times over, I assure you."

Running a hand through her wild curls without thinking, she winced as her chignon loosened threateningly at the assault. "A month ago, I ran into Daphne Greengrass at a Muggle nail shop in Hampstead- shockingly, we go to the same pedicure place. We had a chat, and it turns out that we have quite a bit in common. She invited me to her mother's dinner on a whim, and I went." Granger smiled mockingly. "As I said, I was bored. Originally, I had planned on playing nice, but when I got there the company was… how did you put it? Ah, yes, 'same shite, different day'. It was all the stuck-up snobbery of the Ministry, but with decent nosh. And so I decided to have a little bit of fun. Tweak a few noses… One of those noses, of course, happened to be yours."

"I noticed," Snape said stiffly, feeling a mixture of nascent anger and shame. Dimly, he was aware that he was close to losing control of his temper as Granger went on.

Her voice was triumphant. "Yes, you did, didn't you? And do you know why I did it? Because whenever you've deigned to notice me over the years, it has always been to mock and belittle… It didn't matter how much work I put in, or how respectful I was, for six goddamn years, you pointlessly and purposelessly hurt me. You got your jollies off by being cruel for no other reason than the fact that I was there, and I was Harry's friend. Ironic then, that after all this time, the only thing that's ever met your approval is my tits!"

Her harsh words punctured any sort of tender feelings or dreams he might have held, and Snape could feel the bitter, vicious man rise to the surface like a leviathan. Rage fired his blood, and leaning forward, he yanked Granger in close.

"You conveniently forget one important fact… you noticed me as well!" Not giving her a chance to pull back, Snape kissed her roughly.

Her soft, lush mouth burned him like a brand. Snape could no more control his response than he could stop the Thames from flowing. Head diving down, he caught her mouth firmly with his, kissing her with unbridled lust. She was succulent and sweet, her small, curvaceous figure caught squarely in his arms.

Suddenly, the bountiful shapes of her breasts were pressing hard against his chest, and she was kissing him back with equal fervour. He explored her mouth with deep strokes of his tongue, the bonfire of desire igniting and burning through them both. Snape wished he could tear off the velvet dress and taste Granger's skin. He wanted to suckle the tips of her breasts and then trace the curve of her stomach all the way down until he reached the bourbon curls hiding between her thighs; he wanted to debauch her a thousand different ways, and his entire being seemed to throb with the possibilities.

Blindly, he found the curves of her bum and clamped his long-fingered hands over them, pulling her hard against the prodding stiffness of his sex. Her velvet skirts muffled the sensation, folds of heavy material preventing the intimate contact he burned for. They kissed even more fiercely, straining together until Hermione whimpered his name.

"Severus…"

The shock of hearing his name uttered with such desperation finally jolted his brain into working again. Recalling himself, Severus managed to tear his mouth away, his breath ragged and uneven.

"Enough," he whispered harshly, aware that they were approaching the point of no return. "Enough… or I'll take you right here and right now."

Her eyes flashed in warning but she stepped back all the same. "You could try, but then I would be forced to hex your balls off and give them to Crookshanks to play with!"

"You know," he shot back, "for someone who is supposedly such a respectable, boring witch, you certainly take care to mention your pussy a lot."

Granger sneered at him. "Because good little witches can't talk about their cunts, is that it? I should have known you for that sort of type-"

Abruptly, she cut off, head swinging to the closed door. "Shit! Someone is coming!" Pointing her wand, she let loose with a brief blast of magic. A section of the wall slid aside, revealing a hiding hole. "Get in," she hissed. "I'm not getting caught with you like this!"

With a hard shove, she pushed him into the hiding spot and then squeezed in next to him, shutting the panelling just as the door rattled. Granger tensed, and Snape felt a wave of wandless magic come from her; he thought it might have been a combination of a privacy and notice-me-not spell, but his brain was still too lust-addled to be completely sure.

A horizontal slit in the wall provided a limited view of the office as well as a meagre amount of light; their confined space was limited to the gradients of black and white. The sound of heavy footsteps stilled them both, and he strained to hear what was happening outside.

"So," a tenor voice asked, "what can I do for you, sir?"

"I am given to understand," replied an older man with the pompous, plummy tones of the upper class, "that you have any number of useful connections when one is seeking objects of value. Is that true, Higgs?"

Snape jerked, startled at the stroke of luck that had seemingly befallen him. Higgs was a curious figure in this whole mess and given his apparent felonious tendencies, a conveniently suspicious one as well. Overhearing this conversation might finally provide a solid lead… assuming he could figure out who the second person in the room was, and, of course, if Higgs had anything to do with the whole mess in the first place. Shifting, he tried to pull his wand; there was a spell that he could use to increase the viewing angle of the slit, but Granger blocked him with the simple expediency of rolling her hips against his, pinning him more tightly against the wall.

His cock twitched with renewed appreciation, apparently not having gotten the memo that shagging was no longer on the menu. "Don't toy with me," he growled, mouth brushing the delicate shell of her ear.

"Or you'll do what?" she taunted. Before Snape could do anything more than tighten his hands around her waist in warning, Granger reached up and kissed him.

Lips met lips, and it wasn't a foray into calculated seduction. No, Hermione's kiss was fuelled by pure desperation, and it was that recognition of suppressed sentiment that broke through the last layers of Severus' occlumency and self-control. _She wants me,_ he thought dazedly, _she really wants me…_ With a smothered groan, he turned her roughly in his arms, pressing her into the wall and grinding his aroused body against hers until they both shuddered at the overwhelming sensation. They fed on each other like a last meal, as if they were addicts and only the taste and texture of their lust could assuage the violent need.

Severus was suddenly, gloriously alive, every fibre of his being seemingly electrified in an instant. He revelled in the hot currents of desire coiling through his loins, as every muscle tightened, waiting for the trigger that would release all the gathering tension in one ecstatic explosion.

Hands moving swiftly over her corset, he fumbled slightly as he searched the panels of boned black silk for the hooks. The heated, heaving flesh of her breasts plumped out from the plunging vee of the neckline, their very fullness protesting the tight containment of the gown. Snape bent and pressed his lips to the deep valley of her cleavage, and then spread a series of slow kisses over the revealed skin. Under his questing hands, he could feel the hard points of her nipples beneath the gown. He touched them through the velvet fabric, his thumbs rubbing, stroking, his fingers gently plucking until she groaned. The sound was low and long, and it only made Severus redouble his efforts to unravel her completely.

As if from a great distance, Higg's voice penetrated the fog of lust. "-yes, I have heard that any number of items are missing…"

The words had the same effect as getting doused with a bucket of icy water, and Snape abruptly recalled himself and his true purpose. Fighting against the treacle-like pull of desire, he pulled back. Granger froze as well, feeling his unexpected withdrawal.

From the office, Pompous-voiced man drawled out a question. "And what exactly have you heard?"

Quite unexpectedly, Granger's clever fingers closed around his cloth-covered cock and squeezed. Thoughts short-circuiting and unable to do more than gasp, he stared at Hermione. Her eyes were wide, and pupils dilated; she appeared to be as dumbfounded at her actions as he. In the murky half-light, her skin glowed with all the pale luminance of the moon, all other details hidden by shadows. How long had it been since he had felt a hand that was not his own? Severus was oblivious to everything but the feeling of her fingers and the roar of blood in his ears. He was a rocket man, lost in space.

Hand taking up a regular rhythm, she stroked him slowly. Leisurely. She paused for a long moment, biting her lip. After a breathless wait, Granger made her decision.

His head fell back as she began to unbutton his trousers; vaguely, he was aware that his chest was heaving wildly. The first touch of Hermione's fingers on his bare flesh was almost too intense. Gentling her touch, she carefully pulled him free of the fabric. Thumb swirling through the liquid gathering on the head of the shaft, she grasped him fully in her palm and began her systematic torture again.

Hips moving of their own accord, Severus pushed back in a counterrhythm. "Please…" he managed.

Something that wasn't quite a smile touched her lips at his plea, and she sank down as if curtsying. Thoroughly befuddled, it took Severus ages to understand her intent. Lush lips closing over the head of his cock, Hermione sucked and sucked; he quite literally saw stars. It was an effort to hold back, to not thrust deeply in the hot cavern of her mouth as waves of pleasure enveloped him.

With a wet, obscene pop, she drew his erection away from her lips like a lolly. Wrapping her hand more firmly around his shaft, she guided the tip into the valley between her breasts. Dragging it up and down, the sweet swells of her tits squeezed him. Gleaming contrails of moisture appeared on the perfect alabaster of her skin, and he hissed, the visual stimulus packing a potent punch. As if divining the focus of his earlier fantasies, she used the swollen head to circle the mole that had so caught his attention during their first dinner; once, then twice, and then Severus went supernova, spurts of white semen hitting the curves of her breasts.

Knees buckling and mind blissfully blank, he collapsed on to the wall, barely managing to stay upright.

* * *

Snape had no idea how long he stood half-propped on the wall before consciousness finally dawned again; it was long enough that his knees and back had grown sore from the odd positioning. _What have I done?_ he thought, stunned at how completely things had gone off the rails. _Why did I let myself lose control like that again?_

Granger was still crouched at his feet, head bowed and shivering slightly. Guilt twisted in his stomach, chasing away the last of his post-orgasm lassitude. As gently as possible, he pulled her upright. She wasn't crying, thank Merlin, but her face was a welter of shame, arousal, and a whole host of other emotions that he didn't want to name. Shell-shocked, they both looked away at the same time, leaning into the opposite walls.

Then the metallic, musky smell of his ejaculate hit his nose, and Snape belatedly realised that Granger was still wearing his pearl necklace. With a quick flick, he cleaned them both with a charm, not missing her flinch at the sensation of his magic. Wincing, he tucked his insensate cock back into his pants and buttoned his trousers; never more had he felt like a dirty old bastard then he did at that moment.

They stood like that for several minutes, the awkwardness growing by leaps and bounds. From what he could tell, the office was deserted. Snape reached for something to say.

"I think that they have left," he finally murmured, unable to stand the suffocating silence any further.

"Yes," Granger agreed, in a normal if flat voice; he was reluctantly impressed how quickly she'd managed to mask her emotions.

Taking out her wand, Granger cast a runic spell on the panelling. A red swirl appeared, slowly blinking and then transforming into blue lines.

"The library and the hallway are empty as well." Slashing her wand to cancel the spell, she pushed the panelling open and stepped out.

The flood of harsh white light was painful after so long in the dark, and Snape reflexively narrowed his eyes. Glancing at the clock on the wall, Snape saw that it had only been twenty minutes since they had entered the space. Disbelievingly, he shook his head as if to clear it.

"Why were you in this room?" he asked, the question popping out before he could stop it.

She stiffened, turning. "Because I was tired of getting my arse groped and my tits ogled. Draco offered to sneak me out, but he needed to say his goodbyes first. Any other questions, Headmaster?"

Granger's tone weaponised his title, and the woman who faced him looked every bit a ruthless, hardened warrior. Her gown billowed away from her slightly, the force of her magic making it sway in an invisible wind. In the cramped and shabby office, she radiated all the terrible power of Nimue reborn.

She was oceans away from the alluring siren of the ballroom, and it came as yet another shock.

Unbidden, the recollection of her much younger self returned to him: Hermione Granger, the eager-to-please, bushy-haired firstie, hand continually waving in the air. She had been so innocent then, and so bloody inquisitive that it had been nigh insufferable to have her in his classroom. He remembered her lying petrified and pale in the Hospital Wing her second year, and then recalled the shock of seeing the coltishly elegant, womanly form of Granger dance with Viktor Krum at the Yule Ball… and as the torrent of memories continued to hit him, Snape dropped his head.

Seeing her so altered from that girl hurt; Snape knew that her hardened shell was no façade. She'd earned every brick in that wall. _And now I've handed her the material to make yet another one._

True, Snape hadn't physically forced her to give him a blow job, but he'd sure as hell goaded her past the point of no return, and it was clear that she regretted going that far. _If only I'd kept my ruddy temper in check and not been so quick to rest on my rusted laurels, this whole disaster could have been avoided_ , he wished futilely. Feeling the weight of his many sins bear down upon him, Snape knew that without a doubt, he deserved every scrap of pain and terror he'd lived through, and then some.

There was only one thing to do. "We need to talk," Snape said, feeling utterly ancient.

"I don't have anything further to say to you," she shot back.

"That certainly is your prerogative. I, however, would like a chance to apologise, and for obvious reasons, would prefer to do it somewhere other than here."

At his words, her anger gutted out like a candle, some of the intensity fading from her countenance. "You know," she said, almost absently, "I've never heard you apologise to anyone."

Her words- themselves an accusation- hung painfully in the air for a moment before she went on. "Do you know a private way out? I won't walk through the ballroom looking like this," she said at last, gesturing to her state of déshabillé.

"I believe the day parlour across the hall has access to the balcony. From there, we can enter the garden and make our way to the apparition point."

"Fine." Giving him a sharp nod, Granger tapped her wand over her head, a Disillusion Charm sliding over her body. "Lead on."

Eager to escape, Snape waited only long enough for the charm to stabilise before striding over to the door. Quickly making his way through the library, he paused to listen at the hallway door. Hearing nothing but the snores of the portraits, he opened the door and glanced down the deserted length. Raucous laughter echoed from the ballroom, followed by the sound of breaking glass; clearly, the more dissolute-minded had begun to take over the party.

The door to the day parlour was still unlocked, and Snape entered swiftly, scanning the room for occupants. Thankfully, it too was empty, and he wondered if the fates would be kind enough to allow him an unimpeded exit. The balcony doors only needed a quick _Alohomora_ , and they were out, the cold winter air hitting them like a slap.

Wind gusting wildly and rain coming down in icy sheets, Snape did not relish the thought of making the walk through the garden even with a plethora of weather-protecting charms at his disposal. Wrapping himself as best he could in magic and giving Granger enough time to do the same, he re-locked the door behind them and stepped into the gale. It was an undignified dash to the gates, not to mention a fitting ending to the evening.

"To Hogwarts?" he asked, hoping like hell that Granger hadn't merely gone her own way and left him metaphorically pissing in the wind.

There was a shimmer, and she was suddenly there at his side, looking as cross at the weather as he was. She raised a sceptical brow. "And what, precisely, are the odds of me making it there and back without running into another member of staff, or heaven forbid, a student?"

It was half-past midnight on the weekend; there would still be at least two of the staff making rounds, and Minerva was usually up and nosing around until at least three. "Poor."

"Then it's not an option."

Tired and thoroughly discombobulated, Snape felt his irritation spike. "Where would you suggest?" he asked, doing his damnedest to keep his tone level.

She let out a huff of exasperation, eyes narrowing. "This was your idea."

"And I am trying to give you a measure of control," he snapped back, and Granger looked away.

"Will you trust me?" she eventually asked.

"Yes," he answered. If Granger was aiming for a spot of revenge, then he'd let her get in one good hit, although he didn't think that she was quite so petty-minded to try and properly trounce him.

"We go to my place." She proffered a hand, and after a brief hesitation—truly, it wasn't as if this evening could get much worse—he took it. Pulling him into the compressed chaos of Apparition, Granger held him securely until they landed with a gentle thump in a Muggle garden shed.

The shed was dark, and the rain was only a soft patter on the roof; glancing around, Snape tried to gather some sort of notion of their location to no avail. Other than the fact that it was full of a variety of lawn and garden implements, there was nothing to note.

"Where are we?"

"North West London," Granger answered, wand sketching an abstract pattern on the floor. "Golders Green. This is my parents' house."

Her wards suddenly lit up, and Snape was impressed at how robust and intelligent they were. Granger fiddled with the complex protections for nearly a minute before she returned her attention back to him. "I need a drop of blood."

"You've blood warded a Muggle property?" he asked, surprised. It was a risky move; if it was done incorrectly, sentient wards could inadvertently expose Muggles to the magical side of things in a rather catastrophic manner. Done correctly, however, they could provide almost as much protection as something secret-kept but with far more flexibility.

"Professor Dumbledore helped me create them during the summer between my fourth and fifth years."

"Ahh," he responded, taking out his own wand and using it to prick his finger. He levitated the dark red bead to Granger, who incorporated it into the web of magic with a flash.

A rush of Granger-scented magic cascaded over him then, and the depth of the spell was remarkable. While he could see the foundation that Albus had laid, it was clear that Granger had modified it considerably as well as creatively. _She really is the brightest witch of her generation_ , he mused, _and has finally moved beyond the basic trick of rote memorisation, hasn't she?_

Saying nothing further, she stepped forward and opened the shed door. The weather was indeed far more mild in this part of England, the weather-repelling charms were no longer needed. Granger strode down the garden path without waiting to see if he was following. With a jerk, he hurried after her, only catching a brief glimpse of an overgrown garden and a tall three-storey semi-detached house.

A large orange tom was waiting for them at the back door, meowing loudly and glaring balefully at both of them.

"Oh, hush your whingeing, Crooks," Granger chided, unlatching the kitchen door and ushering them in as the wind picked up. "You know perfectly well how to use the kitty flap and could have done so at any time. It's not my fault you choose not to use it."

Ignoring her words, the cat flounced forward, tail swishing martially as it marched up to an empty bowl. Sitting sphinx-like, it resumed glowering. Granger gave a huff as she opened a cabinet and filled a cup with kibble.

"I hear and obey, master," she said dryly, dumping the food into the bowl. The beast was not impressed by the offering, pointedly glancing towards the fridge. "No," she responded. "Just because I'm late doesn't mean that you get your morning tuna early."

Getting up, Crookshanks sniffed his food, promptly turned up his nose at it and sashayed from the kitchen.

Snape couldn't help but let out a rough bark of laughter at the feline's Napoleonic arrogance, and Granger shook his head ruefully. "As you can see, I do not run this house."

Snape glanced around, taking in the dated if nice finishings; the space had an empty feeling despite the homey knickknacks and pictures that were scattered about.

"Your family?" he inquired, wondering if he would get the dubious pleasure of meeting her parents. _And wouldn't that just be awkward as hell after what just happened!_

Granger stiffened, the animation leaving her expression in a single blink. "My parents no longer live in the UK."

He'd stepped in it once again, that much was obvious, but Snape had no clue why. He couldn't recall much about her parents other than they were dentists. _Were they attacked during the war? No, I don't think so... bollocks, what happened to them? I really should have been paying more attention to these sorts of things._

Switching on a kettle, Granger moved through the narrow kitchen and into the dark of what he presumed was the lounge. "Excuse me for a moment."

"Of course," he murmured, but she was already gone. As the kettle rumbled to life, he took in his surroundings. From what he could see, it was a solidly middle-class house, far different than the two-up two-down dump he had grown up in.

Above the table, there were a series of family pictures. Walking over, he examined them for clues. It appeared that Granger was an only child, which he vaguely recalled, and the candid snaps were of the nauseatingly happy variety. Her father was a tall, slim man with a head full of messy dark brown curls, and her mother, a trim blonde with a warm smile. Whether it be standing on snowy ski slopes or posing in front of a French château, they seemed particularly close, arms thrown over each other and large smiles in each scene. None of the pictures appeared recent, however- Granger was in her early teens at most, and still sported a rather unfortunate overbite, poor taste in jumpers, not to mention hair that defied gravity.

 _So what happened?_ he wondered again, and then jumped a metre when Granger's voice came from directly behind him.

"I Obliviated them," she admitted quietly. "They would not have gone into hiding without me, and Harry… well, I had to make a choice between them. I moved my parents to the Gold Coast under assumed identities. After the war, I tried to reverse the spell, but it didn't work." Giving a bitter laugh, she added, "The stress of trying to fix it nearly killed my father, as a matter of fact. I travel to Australia to check on them several times a year, and they seem happy enough. My Mum is a yoga instructor now, and my Dad surfs when he's not working part-time at a dental surgery."

Unable to find a response that wasn't useless or patronising, Snape turned away from the pictures silently and glanced back at her. Granger had let down her hair and taken off the corset, the velvet dress now hanging around her like more traditional robes. She appeared tired, and more than a little battered, but it did not render her any less compelling. He damned himself for still being interested.

"Tea?" she asked. Snape, still having no bloody clue what he wanted to say, was grateful for the reprieve.

"Do you have something decaf?"

"PG Tips or Yorkshire Gold?"

"Yorkshire Gold, please."

Busying herself with the tea, she appeared to be just as eager to avoid conversation as he was. Sitting down at the table together, they both began to sip at their drinks in studied silence.

Finally taking a deep breath and meeting his eyes, Granger began. "I promise you, I am not Harry's minion, I'm not up to something nefarious, and I certainly don't work for the Aurory. I'll take a wand oath if it convinces you."

Her opening statement was unexpected, and Snape belatedly realised that he had decided to trust Hermione Granger despite any misgivings. Certainly, there were a lot of things that didn't make sense in the whole situation, but Narcissa wasn't wrong when she'd noted that he'd grown rusty in the business of spycraft; maybe he saw connections where there were none.

"I believe you," he said, putting down his cup and leaning back in the chair. "And for what it's worth, I am sorry for the way that I treated you. Not just tonight… but when you were a student as well. You were correct in calling me out for my behaviour. I wish that I could say that I wasn't the black-hearted bastard of the dungeons, but frankly, I am."

Granger opened her mouth as if to object, and Snape held up a hand. "I'm all that and more, not the dark hero that people like to paint me as. Granted, being under the thumb of two masters for the better part of twenty years did not help matters, but I was a cruel bully whenever I could get away with it—which was often. I took pleasure in it because frankly, it was the only thing I had…" Snape trailed off, intensely uncomfortable in admitting the worst aspects of his own character. "And now? I have far more control over my temper—or rather, I usually have more control—but believe me when I say, my internal dialogue hasn't changed all that much from my own student days."

Bracing himself for the worst Severus said, "Please believe me when I say that it wasn't my intent to coerce you into any kind of sexual act. Forgive me for taking advantage and forcing myself on you— "

"Stop right there," she ordered grimly. "There were two adults in that closet, and if anyone should be apologising, it should be me. I was the aggressor— "

"And I enjoyed every minute of it," Snape interrupted right back, hating the guilt swimming in Hermione's expression. "At no point did I ask you to stop, or otherwise indicate that I wasn't fully consenting. I'm sorry, Hermione. That should not have gotten out of control as it did, and I take full responsibility."

"Please don't," she pleaded. "It… it wasn't like that. Not at all. I was in a foul mood, and I lashed out. What I did…" she trailed off and looked away. "I was trying to hurt you, full stop. And while I was mad about the way you treated me when I was a student, what I said to you wasn't the complete truth. You did far more than merely mock and belittle me. You saved my life many times over, and if it wasn't for you, there is no way that we would have won the war."

Severus sighed, tension and the old argument making his head pound. "And you likely would not have been put in that position had I not caused the deaths of the Potters. What I did doesn't even begin to balance the scales— "

"Bullshit!" she snapped, temper roaring out like the lioness she was. "You don't get to take the blame for Tom Riddle's racist fuckery any more than Albus Dumbledore's mad machinations. As for tonight, I greatly enjoyed myself. I liked making you shiver while I sucked you off, and it turned me on to watch you lose control and come all over my tits! Don't you dare apologise and take that from me!"

Just like that, Severus found himself sitting at the table with a fire-breathing goddess; his cock, which had been thankfully inert during the proceedings, suddenly perked up. Shifting in his chair to relieve the pressure, Snape attempted to appease the furious woman in front of him.

"I can't imagine that you got all that much out of the experience," he objected mildly, and she rolled her eyes.

"I got plenty out of it, trust me," she grumbled, a faint pink wash appearing over her cheeks. "As I mentioned, my life has been rather boring as of late. I'm… stuck, I guess, and I don't have a clue how to get myself out of the doldrums. When you and I sat down at that table at the Greengrasses', and I caught you perving over me—"

"I do not perv," Snape protested half-heartedly, a weight disappearing at her matter-of-fact acceptance of the situation. Of his attraction... Fleetingly, he wondered if she could be the one to handle his foul temper and obsessive personality; she had never stepped back from a challenge that he could remember, and Merlin knew she'd never given up on Potter.

Hermione ignored his protestations. "When you, of all people, leered at me at the supper table, paying particular and close attention to my breasts, it was like an alarm clock going off. I was awake for the first time in ages, and you became a convenient target for my frustration." She gave him a bittersweet but charming smile. "While it isn't a terribly flattering aspect of my character, it's true that I've wanted to gain your approval and attention since I was a student. And while I never thought of you like that when you were my teacher…"

"You are no longer a child in my classroom," he concluded, something protective stirring in him at her frank admission of hubris. Merlin knew he could sympathise with that particular failing.

"Just so. I'm an adult now. And adult me enjoyed watching you lose control very much."

Severus' mouth went dry at the latent heat in her expression and he resisted the urge to yank her across the table and continue their conversation in a different manner entirely. _And that,_ a mocking voice in his head noted, _is precisely the line of thought that got you in all this trouble in the first place!_

"If you will allow me a bit of armchair philosophising," he remarked as nonchalantly as possible considering that his dick was trying to drill out of his trousers, "it seems to me that we have several things in common, chief of which is that we both have been lying to ourselves for quite some time. I've spent the last ten years hiding behind the walls of Hogwarts, and I think that you've been doing the same at the Ministry. We've buried ourselves in work and not dealt with… anything. And while this was not the most ideal way to discover just how bored, and indeed, how alone I am, I do thank you for the not-so-gentle kick in the pants reminder to get myself in order."

Her expression was one of rueful amusement as well as understanding; it appeared that she had drawn some of the same conclusions that he had about the origins of their actions. "Is that what we are calling it? A kick in the pants?" she teased.

Looking at the brainy, brilliant, and beautiful woman in front of him, Severus wanted to show her whatever small scrap of goodness remained of his soul, to entice and tempt her with whatever skills he could muster before she booted him out of her life for good. Perhaps the _petite mort_ brought on by an orgasm had dulled his usual cynicism, but he just couldn't be arsed to care about the oncoming danger; there was something suspiciously like hope bubbling in his blood.

"I would call the overall incident a kick in the pants, yes. As for the part when you were specifically sucking me off… I would call that fellatio. Excellently done, at that." Letting a note of humour deepen his tone, he added. "I will even go so far as to admit that it was the second-best blow job of my life."

The shocked look on her face was priceless, and his smirk grew wider as she spluttered in disbelief.

"Second best?"

"As you've already said that you won't let me apologise, I will instead thank you for your outstanding efforts." With a languid swish of his hands, he dismissed her words.

"It was only the second-best?" Hermione repeated, laughing. "Outstanding efforts? God, but you really are a bastard, Snape!"

"I have never pretended to be anything else."

"Dare I inquire about who took first place?"

"Discretion being the better valour and all that rot, I must regretfully decline to share that information."

Granger rubbed her face, still smiling. "Great, now I am going to spend the next several days futilely trying to work the particulars…"

"You wouldn't believe them if I told you," he assured her and was rewarded by her chuckle.

Hermione stared at him from across the table, something almost fond in her expression. "Alright, go on then. Tell me what I did to get marked down."

 _Do I dare?_ Severus asked himself. The tenor of the evening had shifted rapidly enough to be bewildering, and it could still turn sour yet. But Granger… Hermione… she had seemingly overlooked his terrible behaviour and was actively flirting back. Wasn't she?

Adopting a suitably thoughtful mien, Severus steepled his fingers in front of him and let the charged atmosphere build.

"Your technique," he drawled at last, pulling out all of the stops, "was flawless, as was your creative use of visual placement. There was only one area that needed improvement."

"And that was?" she inquired, voice a purr that sent his imagination into overdrive.

"Alas, only one of us came."

Hermione pursed her lips at that rejoinder, and Severus had a visceral recollection of her mouth making the same motion around his throbbing shaft.

"I would argue that was more of an issue with your technique rather than mine."

"And I would be inclined to agree."

Severus observed that her breathing had rapidly increased; apparently, he wasn't the only one finding the conversation to be titillating. Hermione's eyes lowered to half-mast for several seconds, veiling her thoughts. When she glanced up again, it was with a more serious expression.

"What are your recommendations, sir?"

His heart seemed to stutter in his chest at her question, and Severus chose his next words carefully. "I've never allowed retakes, you know that. But as the fault appears to lie with me… I do believe that good manners would dictate that I make it up to you."

"And how would that happen?" she asked, voice catching slightly.

"Take me to your bed, Hermione. Let me even the score, as it were."

Brown eyes met his, and Severus once again felt his entire body leap to attention in sudden awareness.

"You want me," she murmured, the statement caught somewhere between a declaration and enquiry.

"If you were sitting on my lap right now, you would not be asking that question," Severus returned evenly, unease at making himself this vulnerable cooling the edge of ardour.

"Severus… I'm not that woman in the ballroom. I'm not… a lot of things. Truth be told, I'd rather stay home with a takeaway and read a good book than go out. I hate getting all dolled up like this, and most of the time, I cut a rather ink-stained and bedraggled figure."

Hermione's show of nervousness surprised him. Was she that unaware of her own worth? Or was she trying to decline in a way that let him down subtly? Despite the outward trappings of power and influence, Severus knew that he was no prize.

"You can say no, Hermione. Given… everything, I wouldn't blame you if you did."

Reaching across the table, Hermione lightly rested her fingers on top of his. "It's not that. I want you. Equally so, I don't want you to suddenly catch sight of the real me and feel like you've been sold a shoddy bill of goods. If I'm perfectly honest, I haven't been acting like myself in any of this…" she sighed deeply, some of the mask returning. "I just don't want you to be disappointed."

 _I want you._ Her stark admission echoed in his ears, and made his mouth go dry. Her explanation didn't banish all of his concerns over her motives, but Severus found himself unwilling to lose this rare opportunity to explore a mutual attraction; it had been entirely too long since anyone had wanted him. "Neither of us are simple people, and there are bound to be complications in any interaction. But if I am sure of one thing, it's that you won't disappoint me. Infuriate or inflame? Yes. But disappoint? No."

Holding her gaze, Severus turned his palm over and intertwined his fingers with hers. "Take me to your bed, Hermione Granger. You are currently one up on me, and I can't let that stand."

Rising from her chair in a graceful motion, Hermione moved closer, not letting go of his hand. Her expression turned coy. "Are you a competitive man, Headmaster? I never would have guessed."

It was a definite challenge, and there was only one thing for him to do. He stood, the sound of chair legs scraping across the floor frightfully loud in the quiet of the house. Severus leaned down to kiss her mouth, but at the last second, dipped lower, lips and tongue seeking the racing pulse that ran down the graceful line of her neck. Hermione's head fell back in response, and Severus used the opening to gently nip her throat, finding pleasure in the blooming mark that appeared.

"I shouldn't have to remind you of this, Ms Granger," he murmured, tasting her sweetness, "but we Slytherins are not just a competitive lot, but ruthless." He sucked a little harder, and Hermione gave a low moan. "Ambitious. Cunning…" he drawled, stretching the word out until the meaning was nearly changed.

Her clever, delightful hand came up and skated over the buttons of his robe. "There is only one snake that I am interested in learning more about," Hermione whispered with a provocative smirk, fingers diving lower. For the second time that evening, she caressed his swelling shaft through his trousers and he shivered. "and it's not the hypothetical sort. Come with me, Headmaster."

"I plan on it."

Hermione laughed again and lead him up a narrow set of stairs. After a decent hike, they finally arrived at a back bedroom. It was a surprisingly austere room, done in shades of monochrome white and lacking the decoration that he'd seen in the kitchen. Other than a few books on the bedside table and set of purple robes thrown over a chair, there was little to mark the space as hers. For some, the blankness might be soothing, but for others, the cell-like nature of the room might have been a punishment.

 _And which is it?_ Severus wondered, glancing down at the woman in his arms for a long moment. _Does she punish herself as I have done?_

She had seen and understood his assessing stare and looked back up at him unflinchingly; her willingness to expose herself in such a fashion was staggering, triggering a flash of his own insecurity. _You deserve so much more than me,_ he thought but was powerless to walk away from her. _Not when you said that you wanted me…_

Soothingly, Hermione reached up and stroked his cheek, the gesture tender. And then with a wicked smile, she pulled her wand out and loosened the charm that held the back of her gown closed. The emerald green velvet sagged at the shoulders and with a wiggle, she let it drop to the floor.

Severus' jaw followed.

_How on earth does she think that she is boring?_

She was wearing an old-fashioned bustier, a tiny scrap of silken knickers, and thigh-high silk stockings; with her hair cascading down her back, she could not have looked any more the wanton witch if she tried.

"It appears that once again, I find myself ahead," she purred, and Severus' hands started yanking his robes off of their own accord.

Muffling an oath at the stubborn jet buttons lining his frock coat, Severus settled for pulling it up and over his head, and then attacking his belt buckle. Hermione matched him item-for-item, rolling down a stocking as he loosened his trousers and unhooking the bustier as he whipped off his undershirt.

Finally, they stood nearly naked next to each other—him in his pants, and she in her ridiculous excuse for knickers—chests heaving and eyes glazed with lust. Hermione was a visual feast, all flushed porcelain and delectable curves, and Severus wanted nothing more than to sink into her and lose himself. The moment felt unreal, and there was a part of him that expected this to be a joke, or for Hermione to change her mind and kick him to the kerb.

But she didn't. Instead, she took one long, lingering look at him, biting her lip and sliding forward until there was only a whisper of space between them. "Severus…" she breathed, and he had never heard his name said with such longing, such lust.

Before he could stop himself, Severus pulled down his pants and stood totally bare before her. It felt like removing his last piece of armour, and he was left with no defences, nothing to hide his multitude of scars and knobbly knees. But Hermione didn't seem to see any of his flaws, physical or otherwise; if anything, her bourbon brown eyes seem to dilate further.

Indeed, Hermione's regard was like a feather floating down his body, and his cock bobbed with eagerness to reach her. He stretched for her, but she took an unexpected step back. Taking a deep breath, she grasped not for her own final scrap of fabric, but at a small silver charm bracelet dangling on her left wrist. Deftly undoing the catch, she removed it. A faint shimmer obscured her body for a moment before it faded away.

Some of the makeup on her face disappeared, and her hair grew noticeably frizzier. Although her shape didn't change one bit, the surface of her skin did; what had been perfect and blemish-free before suddenly morphed into a road map of wounds. A large wide scar bisected her chest, and Hermione had several parallel lines crossing one leg that appeared to be claw marks. Standing out in red was the word 'mudblood' etched into her right forearm, and it made Severus' gut twist to see it.

"We match," she remarked weakly, her confidence draining away by the second as Severus said nothing.

Words deserted Severus; through misdeeds, he had earned every lash and mark, but Hermione? She never should have faced the things that she had, and if her scars were any indication, it was little wonder that she found herself stuck and unable to move forward.

Gently he ran a hand up her arm, around the outside of one lush breast, and then swirled long fingers around her belly button. Gooseflesh appeared, and she shivered, not meeting his gaze.

"We do. We shouldn't, but we do," Severus murmured, and then pulled her into an embrace. It wasn't sexual; just as she had sought to soothe him earlier, Severus wanted to provide some measure of comfort, of understanding. Hermione fit perfectly in his arms, head finding the hollow between shoulder and chest, and a knot of tension that Severus didn't even know he carried loosened.

Her arms wrapped securely around his waist, and at the advanced age of fifty, Snape discovered that he rather enjoyed hugging.

 _Mine_ , Severus thought, vowing that he would do whatever it took to keep Hermione in his life.

They stood pressed together for several minutes, some of the heat of the moment fading away. But rather than feeling foolish, it simply felt nice, like coming home.

Noting the sensitive placement of several scars, Severus finally asked, "Are there any boundaries I should be aware of?"

Hermione looked up, eyes soft and warm. "I don't like restraint."

"Neither do I."

"Other than that, most things are on the table. When in doubt, ask, and I will do the same," she said, hand stroking the base of his spine. "I took a dose of contraceptive potion last Thursday."

"Homebrewed?"

Hermione met his raised brow with a faintly chiding look. "Of course." Reverently touching one of the long scars that sliced around his hip, she added, "You deserve so much more than me."

Severus shook his head in confusion at her unconscious echo of his thoughts; if anything, it should be the other way around. "Don't talk rubbish."

"It's not rubbish," she said, and then pulled his head down for another one of her desperate, drugging kisses. Leading him blindly to bed, she tumbled on to the mattress, drawing him down next to her. It was sheer bliss to sink the hard lines of his body into her softness, and the intensity ratcheted up swiftly as they explored each other's bodies with fingers and tongues.

"Slow down," he groaned as she wrapped a silky leg around his thigh and ground purposely against him.

"I want you," she said with a whine, hands kneading his bare buttocks like a great cat.

"And I want you," Severus affirmed, lips finding a pert nipple. "But we have all night."

As Hermione writhed beneath him, it became harder and harder to keep a coherent train of thought, but he was determined to get his way. Raising his head, Severus let a hint of his professorial persona colour his tone. "Just this once, I don't want to rush. I want to savour. Sup. Worship your body… Does that meet with your approval, Hermione?

She appeared dazed, and he smiled wolfishly down at her. "I… yes. Just this once."

"Excellent…" Severus whispered, and lowered his head to her lush body once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, my thanks for reading, commenting, and kudo'ing!


	4. Chapter 4

The following morning found Severus digging through her fridge, grumbling at the chilly wasteland that he had uncovered.

"What do you eat, woman?" Severus asked, shooting a glare over his shoulder. He was pleasantly sore and ravenously hungry; he did not relish the thought of returning to his solitary chambers in Hogwarts for a multitude of reasons.

"Takeaway, mostly." Hermione shrugged, the t-shirt she was wearing sliding up in a most distracting manner. "It's just me. And Crooks, of course."

"Hmmm… I think I can make a half-arsed omelette with what you have in here."

"That sounds lovely. There might still be some pancetta and cheese in the freezer," she offered absently, starting the tea.

That shocking revelation forced him to turn around and stare at her. "You put your cheese in the freezer? Don't you know that it doesn't have the molecular structure to withstand crystallisation? What sort of barbarian are you?"

Hermione laughed, apparently thinking his words were hyperbole. "The kind that would rather see cheese frozen than covered with mould in the bin. Necessity is a cruel master, Severus."

That patronising phrase—one that he had heard far too many times in the dark past—hit him like a wet fish, dispelling some of the magic of the morning. "Ahh," he said, watching her carefully, "so Albus used that line on you as well."

"Yes." Although her tone was light, her expression had likewise clouded over, and he saw that it was a sore point for both of them. It was strange to realise just how much they had in common, but Severus pushed the notion away before he fell further down that particular rabbit hole.

Finding the promised items in the icebox, Severus hit them with a quick defrosting spell and unwrapped them. "Come here," he ordered, and she padded over reluctantly, not sure what to expect from him. But Hermione relaxed readily enough as he tucked her under his arm, and he smiled smugly, pleased at his new-found comforting prowess.

Although holding her—hugging her, really—limited his ability to use both hands to chop, he wasn't one of Britain's most powerful wizards for nothing. She giggled as the parade of items conga-danced their way under his knife, and the kitchen quickly began to smell like more than dust and a whiff of old tuna.

"Can you stay with me for the rest of the day?" Hermione asked as they sat down to eat.

He shook his head regretfully. "No. The literacy committee meets at one, and I need to be there to chair the meeting."

"Hogwarts teaches literacy now?"

"Astounding, isn't?" he remarked dryly. "Believe it or not, it's only a sub-committee- we have an entire curriculum committee that oversees the implantation of everything from maths and science to art into the usual collection of classes."

Hermione took an appreciative bite of her omelette. "Worried about Ofsted descending on your door to perform a school ranking, Headmaster?

"Thank fuck, no," he said, immensely grateful that he wasn't a teacher on the Muggle side of things. "I have enough bloody paperwork to worry about as it is. Although I will admit to cribbing some of the more useful teaching frameworks from the better university education courses." Smirking, he added, "I even made Minerva and Longbottom audit several of them for me."

"You didn't!" cackled Hermione, laughing at his impudence. "Well, good on you. My education was rather uneven at the best of times."

"As was mine," he agreed, wishing they had time to discuss the changes that he made; they were a point of pride, and he thought that she'd be impressed. As he'd discovered the night before, an impressed Hermione was a demonstrative Hermione. _I wonder…_ "You know, there is a spot opening up on the committee."

Her fork paused halfway to her mouth. "Is there?"

"Mmmhhhm," he responded, chewing extra slowly to drag the suspense out. "The Governors have a representative, of course, as does the Ministry, but I also designated a neutral seat for someone entirely unaffiliated with Hogwarts to provide some balance when we get shouty at each other. Having a token Muggleborn—not to mention a woman such as yourself with strong secretarial experience to boot—would be just the thing to silence my critics. And as you've mentioned being bored-"

He swiftly ducked as a wet tea bag came flying at him. "Secretarial experience? You bastard!"

"Haven't I always been, my dear?"

Reaching across the table, Hermione affectionately wiped the tea dotting his forehead with a laugh. "No, alas, you haven't been… Are you serious, Severus?"

"About the committee? Yes. Are you interested in the spot?"

"Of course, I am," she said briskly, "and as you pointed out, so politely, I do have some valuable secretarial experience that I could bring to the table."

"You would bring far more to the table, and you know it," he admitted gruffly, taking one last bite of his eggs. He nearly choked when his earlier, meeting-based fantasies concerning proper table height and debauched fraternisation returned to him. _Christ, I am so lost..._

Unaware of how his thoughts had taken a trip to the gutter, she smirked. "See, there you go, not being a bastard."

Glancing down at his empty plate with sudden unease, Severus leaned back. _And now for the fun questions…_ "Will I see you again, Hermione?"

"You damn well better," she shot back immediately, glaring at him over her cup as if she was insulted that he'd even have to ask.

Recognising his cue to stretch out and take her hand placatingly, Severus did. "Good. I just wanted to make sure that we were on the same page."

"Don't you dare do a runner," Hermione chided with far less heat as he stroked her knuckles. "I would hate to have to go to all of the work of hunting you down just to be forced to extract your gonads for cat toys when I can think of far better uses for them."

"I won't," he assured her, keeping a straight face despite her threat. "After all, I wouldn't want to contribute to you becoming one of those crazy cat women one always hears about."

She huffed, and he dangled the tea bag from his fingers tauntingly. "Would you like this back so that you may throw it again?"

"No. I do have some restraint." Hermione rose, picking up her plate as well as his. Walking over to the sink, she began to rinse them.

"So, allow me to rephrase the question. When can I see you again?" Severus called, enjoying the bountiful vista of her bare legs.

Turning off the water and drying the plates, she spoke over her shoulder. "Alas, the Undersecretary is headed to Belgium tomorrow to sort out some extradition treaties, and he requested that I go with him. I don't suppose you'd like to join me in Bruges one of the days?"

"I'd love to, but there is no way that I could fob off all of my duties at this late date. Minerva is already going to be curious enough about what I've been up to as it is." Severus sighed, feeling some of the weight of his responsibilities return to him. "When do you return?"

"Friday morning, I believe."

Thinking of all the end-of-term insanity that awaited him back at Hogwarts, Severus reflected that Hermione's week-long absence from England wasn't entirely a bad thing. Merlin knew that she was a pleasant distraction of epic proportions, but he needed to have his wits about him for at least part of the week or risk Minerva doing a bit of investigating herself.

"Are you planning on attending the Orphan's Ball?" he inquired instead, mentally ticking through his weekly calendar.

"No. I wasn't invited, nor did I wish to drop five-hundred galleons to buy a ticket."

Steepling his fingers, he sent her an arch, villainous glance. "You could come as my plus one. I warn you, however, my fee would not be charged in galleons."

Hermione looked startled and went silent for several seconds, all humour vanishing from her expression. "You would wish to be publicly linked with me?"

"Yes." He waited for her response, breakfast turning sour in his stomach as she said nothing.

"Severus…" she finally began, trailing off and looking away. "The press… you know how vicious they can be, and when it comes out that we are… we are-"

"Dating? Making the beast with two backs?" Severus offered acidly, post-shagging goodwill suddenly gone in the face of her hesitancy.

"Don't get cross with me," she responded, leaving the sink to come stand next to him. "I'm not objecting to any relationship labels as much as I am finding the notion of exposing my private life to the prurient gaze of the public to be utterly distasteful."

"Good to know." He took her point, but he didn't like it one bit.

Seeing that he still wasn't placated, she touched his shoulder. "I mean it, Severus. I'm not at all embarrassed to be in a relationship with you, but since I was fourteen, my supposed licentious sexual behaviour has provided far too much fodder for the gossip rags. If it got out that we were seeing each other, the reaction would be nuclear. Rita Skeeter, for example, would gleefully clutch her pearls and birth a bovine, post-haste. Frankly, I'm shocked that the rumour mill isn't already going at full tilt given our earlier conduct."

Her reasoning made perfect sense, especially when he recalled some of the smear campaigns of her youth. "I understand," he told her, trying to dismiss any lingering resentment. It had only been one night, after all; just because he had been obsessed with her for weeks didn't mean that she felt the same way.

"Surely you can understand my desire to be protective of this," she said with quiet sincerity, and he covered her hand with his.

"Yes," he repeated, and finally meant it. As long as they were on the same page that this was a relationship—and apparently, they were—the rest could go hang. It was utterly foolish to want to shout his business from the treetops given that he usually avoided that trap assiduously. _All this shagging must have really melted my brains to lose it over something as minor as this…_

"Why are you going to the Orphan's Ball, anyway? You aren't normally one for the charity circuit."

"You already know the answer to that question."

Hermione narrowed her eyes. "So that bit about playing the lead role in 'Inspector Snape and the pure-blood Jewellery Heist' wasn't a load of tosh after all?"

"No. Much to my displeasure."

"Tell me the particulars," she ordered, sitting down in her chair again with a far more intense stare.

"What is this, bossy o'clock? Are you going to turn on the interrogation lights if you don't get all the answers?"

Cocking her head, Hermione remarked sweetly, "Should I not be concerned when my brand-new partner-in-shagging might be involved in something dangerous, or worse yet, something that might limit the time for the aforementioned activity?"

He laughed, unable to help it. "Point to you."

"Spill, Severus."

Briefly, he told her about the missing items and how Narcissa had wrangled him into the investigation. She listened attentively but without comment.

"…so, as you can gather, it's all a bit of a cluster at the moment. My fault really—I should have been warier when Narcissa approached me, but you aren't the only one suffering from a case of terminal boredom."

"This sounds dangerous."

He shrugged. "It probably is, but I've been in worse pickles."

She rolled her eyes at his studied nonchalance. "How can I help?"

"Gryffindor," he said with affection, touched despite himself at how quickly Hermione had rallied to his side. It was an odd feeling to suddenly not be alone.

"Guilty as charged, and I repeat, what can I do?"

"I'm not sure that there is much you can do."

"Why on earth hasn't someone called the Aurors? Isn't something like this exactly their job?"

"Welcome to the wonderful world of pure-blood pride and politics," he explained. "This is how it is with the lot of them- always trying to poach each other's wives and property to make the other person look weak. It's a game and all about saving face. Moreover, it's a prime example of what happens when you have too much free time, too much money, as well as suffering from terminal inbreeding."

She snorted as his harsh assessment. "Ouch. What about setting up some sort of sting, or trap to hurry things along? Surely it can't be all that hard to suss it out."

"I've thought about setting a trap, but I'm not willing to risk the Hogwarts protections for something this petty, and I don't want to pull anyone else into this mess if I don't have to."

Hermione sat back, appearing lost in thought. "What about using me?"

"What do you mean?" he asked, not liking the sound of her question.

"Do you have any of the Prince jewellery?" she asked.

"And how do you know anything about that?" he returned, something cold sliding over his skin at her words.

"Because," she snapped back heatedly, not having missed his reaction, "I'm the jewellery thief you are looking for, and clearly, I have done my research concerning the pure-blood collections!"

Snape said nothing, letting the silence grow.

"I was at your trial, you suspicious bastard. Your family history and genealogy was on full display for all to see. Moreover, due to a certain spell-filled potions textbook being in Harry's possession during our sixth year, I was rather anxious to discover who the bloody 'Half-Blood Prince' was, and what all it entailed!"

Her explanation made perfect sense, and Severus felt ashamed at his sudden return to doubts.

It was Hermione's turn to play the silence card, and Snape struggled to come up with something to say that wasn't utter crap. He finally just answered her question and hoped for her renewed patience in light of his commitment to excellent cunnilingus.

"Yes, I inherited several of the remaining Prince family jewels."

"And do any of them match up with what is being stolen?"

"A necklace as well as some ear bobs," he admitted grudgingly.

"If I wore it to a society event," she said coolly, "do you think that we could engineer a situation in which the thief or thieves would be enticed to try and take one of them from me?"

It would be just the thing, but Severus wasn't even tempted to risk her safety. "Absolutely not. It's too dangerous."

"I've been in worse pickles," she drawled, using his own words against him.

"And surely you can understand my desire to be protective of you!" he exploded, returning the favour. "All jokes aside, this isn't a game, Hermione. People have died over these sorts of things."

"I know! That's why this is important enough to scuttle my privacy concerns. I don't want you to have to deal with it alone!"

It was possibly the only thing that she could have said that would deflate his anger, and it worked like a charm. But before he could say anything more, the hall clock chimed, and Severus was reminded that he was in genuine danger of being late to his meeting.

"Forgive me," he said, rising and feeling a bit overwhelmed by everything. "I'm not used to having someone being all that concerned with my welfare."

"Severus," she began, but he cut her off with the simple expediency of kissing her. He let his lips and body do the talking for him, not bothering to hide the morass of messy emotions swirling under his skin. Drawing him close, Hemione kissed him back, reflecting the same jumble.

Finally pulling away, Severus cupped her soft cheek. "I'm not entirely alone. I recruited Draco and Theo Nott to be my minions."

"I'm not sure that makes me feel any better," she groused, smoothing down his shirt with affectionate fingers. "Just be careful, alright?"

"I will. And I'll think about your offer," he added belatedly, reflecting that he really was a sucker for demanding women.

"Good." Hermione peered at the clock. "You are going to miss your meeting if you don't leave right now."

"I know." Buttoning his robes, he made for the garden door. "Call on me if you get back before lunch on Friday; I should be able to sneak away if it's later in the week."

She smiled faintly. "I will."

Pausing to stare at the twee duck-headed doorknob in his hand, Severus was suddenly hit by a wave of incredulity; reflected in the glazing of the door was Hermione, bare-legged and beautiful with her crazy curls. His lover, and more importantly, his… friend.

The last twenty-four hours had been unbelievable, to say nothing of unexpected.

"Thank you," he said softly, meeting her eyes one last time.

"You don't ever have to thank me, Severus," she replied, just as serious.

"Yes, I do."

"Until Friday?"

"Until then." Opening the door, Severus strode into the garden, mind resolutely turning to Hogwarts.

* * *

As he disappeared, Hermione sat rigidly in the closest chair—his chair, still warm with his body heat—and waited for Severus to clear the wards. She shivered as the magic told her of his Apparition, and remained motionless for another two minutes; she didn't want to risk him returning and seeing something he ought not.

When she was confident that he was gone for good, the shaking started, followed swiftly by a flood of violent nausea. Racing to the sink, she barely managed to make it in time as her stomach expelled every last bit of the delicious breakfast he had made.

Then the tears started.

It was like a dam bursting, and she sunk down to the floor, heedless of the cold tile on her bare legs.

"Oh, God," Hermione Granger whispered, rocking as it felt like guilt was tearing her in two. "What have I done? He will never forgive me…"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A.N.~ *Drops mic, scurries away*
> 
> Well, my lovelies, what do you think? I do so love reading your theories as to what is happening!
> 
> Ofsted is the UK department that inspects and rates educational institutions, and dealing with them can envoke a feeling of living in one of Dante's famed circles... 
> 
> Lastly, have you ever wanted to (temporarily) purchase a fanfic author or artist for your own nefarious ends? Well, now you can! From 18 February to 22 February, Fandom For Oz will open up the bidding from a variety of fandom creators (not limited to HP!) to help support Australian bushfire relief efforts. Basically, you bid on a creators items (for example, I've offered to either write a personalised fic or beta/Brit-pick a work) and if you win, you donate that amount to one of ten charities. Then you can sit back and enjoy, knowing that you not just will receive a one-of-kind creation, but also will be lending a helping hand where it is needed the most. If you are interested, the offers will be available for viewing starting on the 18th at fandomforoz.livejournal.com. 
> 
> Happy Reading!


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

The woman sleeping in the bed next to him was snoring heavily, the sound something akin to a woodpecker attacking a magically refilling whoopee cushion. After nearly four hours of listening to the discordant, wheezing symphony, Severus was ready to place a pillow over her mouth and smother her.

Then Maria Travers rolled over and let out a wet fart.

If smells had a colour, her gaseous emission would have been a swirling combination of sickly green and excrement-laced brown. Gagging, Snape cast a freshening charm over the stuffy bedchamber, frantically trying to remind himself why he ever imagined this would be a good idea.

He'd damn near skipped back to Hogwarts the previous Sunday. Even after running into a highly inquisitive Minerva at the gates, his mood remained smug; he was a well-shagged man, and no one could take that victory from him. Indeed, his disposition had only improved when she'd offered to cover the first week of the upcoming winter holiday if he'd be willing to handle the first week of the spring holiday by himself. His Deputy wanted quite badly to go to a transfiguration conference in Switzerland and was ready to bargain mightily for the free time to do so. Knowing a good deal when he heard one, Severus agreed almost before Minerva had finished her pitch.

With visions of unlimited nookie dancing through his head, Snape began to plot the quickest way to clear his plate of all non-essential activities. Shifting around his Hogwarts duties wasn't terribly hard—delegation really was a subtle art lost on most people, frankly—but figuring out how to swiftly solve the case of the missing pure-blood jewellery stymied him for several days.

In the end, Severus decided that Hermione had the right of it; he wasn't going to wait around twiddling his thumbs with the hope the thief would make a mistake large enough to be caught. He would be proactive, not reactive. And with that guiding principle in place, he'd commenced plotting.

After reconsidering Hermione's idea, Severus dismissed it, not wanting to put her at risk. That left one obvious place to start— Maria Travers.

She was one of the few people who hadn't been burgled yet and had been making herself a larger and larger target as the weeks went by with her propensity to run her gob. Severus had gone to Narcissa and spun a plan in place; he would offer to protect the obnoxious woman for several nights in hopes of catching the crook. Narcissa was doubtful that things would fall together so easily but willing to help facilitate the trap.

They'd promptly gone to Yorkshire and knocked on Travers' Palladian pile to make their case. The odious woman hadn't objected much, suffering from the delusion that Snape's plan was some sort of asinine matchmaking ploy. After surreptitiously offering her a Veritaserum-laced biscuit and confirming that indeed, she was not behind the whole bloody thing in the first place, Severus had asked to see the jewellery at risk.

Travers, simpering like a lovesick youth, had informed him that she kept all family heirlooms in her bedroom. Naturally, they weren't kept in a safe, or any other stronghold. Oh, no… they were stored in a bloody music box on her dressing table that was only minimally warded. Making the situation worse was the lax household protections, which were fifty years old if they were a day. Travers had insisted that were unbroachable, but Snape knew he could easily find several N.E.W.T. level students who would have no problem dismantling the protections in all the time it took to banish a boggart.

For all that, the Travers' jewels were impressive, and he'd paused to wonder if Hermione would ever want something similar. _No_ , he concluded, staring down at the glittering mess of gold and gemstones. _She wasn't the flashy, gaudy type. Perhaps something sentimental would go over well, but nothing that suggested the hubris of Marie Antoinette._ _Charmed hair combs, maybe? But nothing in ivory or tortoiseshell; given her advocacy on behalf of the downtrodden, I would need to find something sustainable and cruelty-free…_

"The North gets mightily cold at night, Headmaster," Maria Travers had purred, interrupting his train of thought. "You are more than welcome to keep yourself warm in my bed while we wait..."

Just the thought of being anywhere close to a naked Maria Travers made his todger want to crawl up somewhere north of his liver and hide; it had taken a supreme act of effort to decline the offer with any vestige of tact.

He had spent the following hour laying monitoring charms over the ground and house and then settled disillusioned behind a painted screen in Travers' bedchamber. The woman had made a production of being restless but had finally dropped off to sleep… and promptly started snoring.

The next trump to fill the room was disgusting enough to nearly distract him from the ripple of magic at the window. Grimly, he let the stink linger, hoping that whoever was about to enter would choke on the fumes and quickly reveal themselves.

Alas, he wasn't that lucky.

Senses straining to make anything out in the murky room, Snape waited to see what would happen next. A minute passed, and then two. He began to wonder if he had been mistaken in seeing something. _Bollocks,_ he swore mentally. _I will not suffer through another night of this. I wonder if I can get a house-elf to trade places with me?_

Suddenly, a small black valise appeared out of thin air, expanding as it floated gently above the dressing table.

_Gotcha!_

Palming his wand, Severus watched as the music box went into the bag and disappeared again; it appeared that the person was hiding under an invisibility cloak. Activating the tracking spell he'd laid over the box, Snape smirked as he saw a narrow ribbon of red light move to the window.

On silent feet, he glided after the thief.

Coming level with the window for a moment, the red ribbon abruptly dipped and dropped out of sight. _How did that happen?_ he wondered, and after a moment, touched his fingers to the glass cautiously. They slipped through like water, and he was impressed by the charm work. Taking a risk, he stuck his disillusioned head out the window in time to see the trellis shake slightly as someone quickly climbed down it. After a beat, footsteps appeared in the dewy grass, the moonlight providing the perfect illumination.

Snape hoisted himself up onto the ledge and looked out, tracking the hidden figure as they dashed down the hill at some speed. While it was true that the grounds were warded against broom flight and Apparition, they were not protected against his rare ability to fly unaided, and he fully intended on taking advantage of that fact. Sneering like an avenging god, he leapt into the moist midnight air, robes billowing out behind him soundlessly.

Letting the person escape halfway across the garden, Snape timed his dive perfectly, crashing into the thief with all his weight, driving them both into the rocky Yorkshire soil with a jarring, grinding thud.

He heard a cry of pain before a wall of magic rose up, defending its master; Snape barely got his shields up in time to combat a strong stinging and paralysing hex. The person struggled violently underneath him, managing to wiggle free, and suddenly, the fight went south.

Rather than magic, the person fought with fists and feet, apparently having some sort of martial arts training. Snape had been in enough rumbles to hold his own briefly, but the thief seemed to move like smoke, raining a series of numbing blows to his arms and face that stole any advantage he had.

Acting on instinct, Snape aimed high and caught the very edge of the sheer fabric. Clawing wildly, he snagged the corner and yanked. The hood of the invisibility cloak loosened and then fell. A familiar heart-shaped face appeared in the bitter winter night.

Looming above him, Hermione Granger froze. Utter horror roaring through his body, Snape's disillusionment charm failed.

They stared at each other, both unbelieving.

_No… no, it can't be!_

A ripple of darkest red was his only warning as a second robed figure materialised.

"Stupefy!" bellowed a male voice, and the world went instantly dark.

* * *

Snape came awake abruptly as a Rennervate was cast over his prone form; attempting to bring his arms up, he found that his wrists were restrained with a sticking charm to the damp soil. Fighting back a sense of panic, he glanced around. Granger sat on a rock just to his right, looking coolly composed. Behind her stood a man in the all-enveloping maroon robe of the Unspeakables.

"Severus, what are you doing here?"

He glared at her, betrayal clouding the scene with a red mist. "I didn't know that Yorkshire had been annexed to Belgium," he snarled, and she shook her head in frustration.

"Look at him," she ordered roughly, pointing to the silent figure standing behind her like a Praetorian guard. "Take a good long look at his robes and reconsider your answer. You are in far more trouble than you know, and I can't protect you with only half the story."

"Fuck off!"

"Severus…" she began and he cut her off with a low snarl.

"Don't you dare use my name." He tasted nothing but ashes, his dreams of a happily ever after dying a swift death. It had been too good to be true; who would really want Eileen Prince's dark-hearted son? His instincts had been correct this whole time: Granger had been part of a set up from the start, and she had only been using him.

Granger looked down her nose at him, a severe expression that harkened directly back to Minerva. "Headmaster Snape, you can either tell me what I need to know, or we take you back to the Ministry, and you speak with a far less sympathetic crowd than I."

The threat was chilling, and the man shifted uneasily next to her. Snape seized the moment, making a wild guess.

"Higgs, stop standing there like a workshy wanker. At least have the bloody decency to lower your hood and face me like a man!"

After another chagrined shuffle, Higgs revealed his face. Granger was not pleased with the defection.

"Terence, take the valise and make the switch. I want you back here in twenty minutes."

"Hermione-"

"Do it." Her voice whipped out like a lash.

Biting back a retort, Higgs took the small bag lying at Granger's feet and disappeared into the darkness.

"I understand," she began again, tone placating, "that right now you are quite angry with me, and you have every right to be. But you must cooperate. If you don't, you risk getting obliviated, and with your formidable skills at occlumency and mind magics…" Granger trailed off, looking away for a long moment. "It could destroy your mind and your magic with it. You know that well enough."

"Perhaps," he shot back witheringly, "you should have thought about that before you fucked me just to get ahead on some bloody case!"

Granger's calm façade shattered. "Don't you dare blame all this on me! You are the one that bumbled into my fucking investigation and wouldn't take no for an answer! I warned you off when we danced, and you still came after me! And let me remind you, I wasn't the only one who lost control in that sodding spy-hole!"

He opened his mouth to say something truly terrible, and she hit him with silencing charm.

"No," she hissed. "You damn well will listen to me, and listen well. I'm not fucking around, Snape. Have you looked at the Hogwarts Book of Admittance lately? If you had, you would have noticed that not a single pure-blood child has been born in the last eleven months. Furthermore, there have been far fewer half-bloods than there should have been. And why is that? Because someone has been stealing the most powerful blood-warded pure-blood jewellery and using it to gain control over the family lines. It's a corruption of the worst kind and could kill off Wizarding Britain if we don't stop it. This isn't some minor jewellery heist, it's another wanna-be dark lord! Now, I'm not going to argue with you or listen to further personal attacks; either you cooperate with me and I will do my best to protect you, or we use this portkey right now to return to the Ministry and they can decide what to do with you. What is going to be, Headmaster?"

Releasing the _silenco_ , she stared at him. It wasn't a choice, and they both knew it.

"You lied to me, and you used me in the worst way. I will not forget this, Granger."

Her eyes closed momentarily. "I never expected you to."

"What do you want to know?"

Sitting back down on the rock primly, she extended her wand. "First, I will have a wizarding oath that you will cooperate fully, telling me everything you know or suspect that relates to this case, and you will act only with my approval when it comes to this investigation. Naturally, this will all be done in good faith."

Her words only stoked the flames of his anger, as Snape vividly recalled being at the mercy of other vows of obedience. "You don't ask a lot, do you?"

"Given how many lives are on the line?" she pressed ruthlessly. "I don't have a choice. We both know that necessity is a cruel master, isn't it? Wand out, Snape…"

* * *

Severus finally broke.

The relief that Hermione felt when he gave her his oath was enough to make her knees weaken. Any sense of reprieve, however, was utterly crushed by the expression of sheer hatred and rage that he directed at her; it hurt almost as much as the broken ribs she was trying to hide. Leaning hard on the buffer of occlumency was the only thing that kept her from futilely begging for his forgiveness and spewing out her many excuses for her shoddy behaviour.

He'd tossed a slim leather book at her feet, informing her curtly that it had been from Aberforth Dumbledore and contained the family lore behind most of the missing items. Hermione knew most of it already, but there were some new, helpful details that might help the curse breakers. Spending ten minutes to flip through it, Hermione stayed silent, giving Severus time to reign his temper in.

Glancing up and finally meeting his glower, she pocketed the notebook. "Terence will be returning at any moment, and we need to discuss what will happen next."

Severus said nothing, expression mocking as he folded his arms over his chest.

"I don't care what excuse you make, but I don't want you to guard Travers any longer. There still is a remote chance that the thief will try and break in. If he does, I don't want there to be any obstacles to them getting the doctored jewels so that we can have the chance to track them."

Still nothing from the man in black, and Hermione bit back a sigh.

"We will, however, be proceeding to use the Prince jewels as bait; at this point, that is the only family line that hasn't been directly hit by a theft. If you don't want me to use them during the sting, I will need to borrow them for approximately twenty-four hours to make copies. Over the next three weeks, I will wear pieces of higher value to pure-blood events in the hopes of luring the thieves out of hiding. We need time to get other plans in order before-"

"You aren't really suggesting I act like your lovesick swain for the next three weeks, are you?" Snape exclaimed suddenly, words dripping with disgust.

It hurt, just as he intended. "No. Glowering at me and the occasional dance with do. People will draw their own conclusions."

"You do know what conclusions people will draw when you wear the Prince jewels without the benefit of an acknowledged relationship, don't you?" Snape drawled snidely.

"That I am your whore?" she snapped back. "Yes, I am quite aware what people will be saying, and frankly, it's nothing I haven't heard ad nauseam."

"If the label fits."

Hermione could not hold back her flinch, and tears filled her eyes. Digging her nails into the fleshy part of her palm, she used the physical pain to block out the emotional. She had not wanted to hurt him, and she sure as hell hadn't wanted to use him, either. But the situation had taken those choices out of her hands. "That was unworthy of you."

Snape didn't apologise.

Terence finally reappeared, face chalk-white as he took in their tense expressions. "It's done."

"Thank you."

Hermione stood, tasting blood in her mouth. "We will begin at the Rosier's musicale on Wednesday. Do you want me to come to Hogwarts to pick up the jewels, or would you rather meet somewhere else?"

"You are not welcome within the protections of Hogwarts," Snape growled, and everyone felt the surge of magic that accompanied the formal pronouncement from the Headmaster of the Castle.

"Where then?" she asked bitterly, his repudiation of her another nail. "I am trying to give you some control."

"I will come to the garden shed an hour before the event starts."

"As you wish." Pulling Travers' music box from the valise, she held it up. "Do you want me to return it, or would you rather do it alone?"

"I don't want your help, and for future reference, I don't want your explanations. Give me my marching orders, and then leave me the fuck alone."

Wordlessly, Hermione handed Snape the box. He took it carefully, making sure not to touch her, and then leapt into the air with an abrasive blast of magic. She could only follow his flight for several seconds before he dissolved into the starry nothingness, and it felt like he had taken her smashed heart with him.

Terence caught her before she could hit the ground.

"What's the matter?" he asked, casting a diagnostic spell over her as she tried in vain to stop shivering with pain.

"Broken ribs, I think."

"Lean in, Hermione," he said, carefully placing his arms around her; concern radiated off him along with body heat. "I'll get us back to HQ in a flash."

"Terence…" she started, aware she was asking too much from her partner and friend. "I need you to leave Snape out of your reports."

He paused, looking down. "I was afraid that you were going to say that."

"I have to try and protect him."

"And what happens after? Hermione, you can't hide this sort of operational breach forever. And when they find out…"

Hermione shivered, knowing that she was only buying time. _Bless him_ , she thought dazedly. _At least he hadn't started with 'I told you so'_. "I'll figure something out."

"Alright," he agreed. "I'm so sorry."

"Me, too."

* * *

The following three weeks were sheer torture.

Memories of that night- of what happened in the spy hole, of their later earth-shaking conversations, of making love with Severus—were relentless. So too were the many what-ifs that crowded her mind. Unable to sleep, Hermione spent hours laying in her bed dissecting her actions, trying to determine if there had been any other options open to her. It seemed as if that first dinner conversation had set the stage for all their future interactions; perhaps if she hadn't played it up so much as a honey pot, matters would not have exploded the way that they did. Or was she lying to herself?

_If only…_

But once she and Severus had been trapped together, once Terence's identity and the investigation had been threatened… Hermione couldn't see any other way she could have distracted Snape. Oh, sure, she could have tried to stun and stupefy him, but despite her formidable skills, she didn't think she'd be able to successfully pull that trick over on Severus. And if she had tried, failed, and been discovered in that hidey-hole… well, that would be a fine mess indeed.

But in the panicked, furious seconds before she'd reached for his dick, her thoughts hadn't entirely been on business. Hermione had desired Severus with an ire and passion that she'd never felt before. She wanted to punish him for coming after her when she'd warned him off, and for arousing an ardour that pushed everything else from her mind. Pressed together in the dark, Hermione wanted to stroke his thick cock and force him to come; she'd wanted his total surrender and mastery. Keeping him distracted from the goings-on outside was merely a providential bonus.

So yes, Hermione had used him. While it hadn't entirely been in anger, it had been thoroughly done in lust.

That, more than anything, made her feel dirty; she'd used her job to manufacture a situation to satisfy her own base nature, and in doing so, had hurt a man that she deeply respected and admired.

Indeed, ashamed didn't even begin to describe her feelings, but she forced herself to put the self-flagellation on hold until the case was over. Knowing the dire consequences of letting her mental protections fail, Hermione got up early every morning and mediated, renewing her occlumentic shields that kept her emotions at bay. True, it turned her into a stone-cold bitch, but she needed the callousness of what she privately termed Vulcan-style logic to carry on. While occlumency provided enough distance for her to function, Hermione was under no illusion that she would be able to keep them up forever. Her world narrowed down to the dark details of the case, and she had to force herself to sleep and eat.

Aberforth's notebook and Severus' accompanying marginalia had proven to be highly useful, providing enough information to drastically cut their suspect pool down. From an operations standpoint, things were relatively successful—they still had no definitive clue who was behind the thefts but were able to break in and replace the blood-warded jewels of six other families, thus somewhat limiting the spread of the curse. But personally, Hermione had never been closer to a breakdown.

Snape's mask was impressive. At society events, he gave no clue to the towering rage that he showed her in private. While he never yelled at her again, or indeed, repeated any of the cruel comments, the fury burning in his black eyes when they were alone was more than enough to convey his feelings.

As she'd expected, the rumours concerning her and the Headmaster turned nasty from the get-go. She was cast as the mudblood harlot, and Snape as merely a man toying with trash before settling down with a proper wife. No one called her a slag to her face, but it was plain enough in their behaviour and passive-aggressive snubs.

Harder to bear was Draco's wrath.

The Slytherin had cornered her in a hallway late one night, and the coldness in his gunmetal gaze turned him into a carbon copy of his father.

"You promised," he said, voice low and threatening. "I told you not to hurt him, and yet, you clearly have. I expected better from you, Granger."

"The situation is more complex than you know, Malfoy," she replied tiredly, trying to manoeuvre so that she wasn't trapped in a corner. The hairs on the back of her neck rose as she recognised him for the threat that he presented.

"You are bloody lucky that my Godfather has ordered me to keep my nose out of whatever is going on, because if he hadn't…." Draco paused raggedly, fists clenching at his sides and fury radiating off him in malevolent waves. "I will destroy you for this, one way or another."

"Good luck with that," Hermione said and meant every word of it. Slipping past him, she re-entered the ballroom, smile bright and manner flirtatious.

* * *

Several days later, she and Terence sat in their office, a lengthy arithmancy equation representing all their work floating in green above them; as they had plugged in the data gathered yet far, the permeations had narrowed until a single name was displayed.

"I will admit," Higgs remarked, blinking with surprise, "that while he certainly is an annoying bastard, I never seriously considered him to be smart enough to behind it all."

"Nor I, but his direct bloodline is the only one to remain unaffected, and the evidence stacks up rather nicely when you examine everything holistically."

Terence sighed, a comforting hand landing on her shoulder. "It's going to have to be tonight, isn't it?"

"Yes. I've caught whiffs of decaying curses at the last two parties, and we don't dare to wait any longer. Given all the bloodlines that have been corrupted, I'm surprised no one has dropped dead, frankly."

"What's the plan, boss?" he said, offering her a weak smile.

"I'll borrow the jet necklace with the king ruby from Snape; there are enough blood magic ties in that particular stone that our thief won't be able to resist. I'll flash it about for a few hours, and then make myself scarce with the hopes that he comes after me to snatch it. If that doesn't work, we will just have to go to him, wands blazing. How well do you know the layout of the house?"

"The ground floor is a maze of oddly shaped rooms and dead-end hallways; you'd be best off trying to make your way to an outside balcony, or better yet, the orangery. Are you planning on using your bracelet to summon the cavalry?"

Hermione nodded. "Yes. Matthias loaded it up with a whole host of goodies this morning."

"Brilliant."

She gave a rough chuckle. "It's a pretty piss poor plan, isn't it?"

"We've gone in with less." Terence smiled for real, but the humour quickly faded. "Does the big boss know about Snape yet?"

Her gut twisted with fear, and Hermione took several calming breaths. "I put in a request for him to be given top-secret clearance three weeks ago, so she knows something is up with him. It wouldn't be a shock if she already has the full story and is just waiting for us to close this case before making any decisions."

Terence hesitated before speaking again. "Has Snape… loosened up at all?"

Hermione slanted him a look full of froideur, not bothering to answer.

"Right, foolish question." Shifting his attention back to the equation, Higgs' forehead wrinkled. "I don't like the uncertainty of this section. I don't think that our thief is working alone."

Re-reading the line, she shrugged. "It's pretty clear that no witch or wizard is helping him, and at this point, there isn't a whole we can do if something else is."

"Okay." He hopped off the table. "Shall I go alert the Hit Squad that things are a go?"

"Please," Hermione said, mind already turning to her other preparations, like how she needed to cast yet another depilatory charm on her legs, or the fact that she was quickly running out of ideas for transfigured ball gowns. She would not give space to the looming sense of doom that was growing in her gut, or the feeling that she'd miscalculated how much danger she was in by wearing the Prince jewels publicly.

"Hermione," Terence called from the door. "Be careful tonight, yeah?"

She glanced up, seeing the obvious concern on his face. "Aren't I always?"

"No. That's what I'm afraid of." He opened his mouth to say something else but changed his mind when he saw her expression.

"Go," she ordered, eyes hard. "What will be, will be."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A.N.~ So... answers, of a sort. What think you, lovely readers?
> 
> Fun colloquial language tidbit of knowledge: in Northern British English, a 'trump' is like a shart, only louder, wetter, and smellier. My Gran would warn us of the dangers of trumps after we'd eaten too many servings of beans on toast, or raided the fruit trees a bit too early in the season. Apropos, is it not?
> 
> As always, my thanks and appreciation to all who have continued to read, bookmark, kudo, and comment. Seeing your reactions keeps this fanfic writer writing! 
> 
> Finally, one more plug for the fantastic 'Fandom for Australia' relief effort that can be found over on LiveJournal. This week the bidding is open, and wonderful people just like you can (temporarily) buy your favourite fanfic creator- including yours truly!- to make a one-of-kind item that directly benefits bushfire relief. There are some huge names in fanfic participating, and it's not just limited to the wonderful world of HP. Come bid on something and show your love for OZ and your fandom!
> 
> Happy reading!


	6. Chapter 6

Snape paced wildly in his office, a balled-up note in his hands.

His orders had arrived from Granger twenty minutes earlier, and just the sight of her carefully constructed cursive was enough to make his blood boil.

He wanted to throttle her. He wanted to kiss her. Most of all, Snape wanted some bloody fucking explanations from her.

But of course, on that horrible night three weeks ago, he had told her that he wanted none of those things. Granger had dutifully done as requested, and theirs had been a cold détente. To his surprise, she'd not attempted to manipulate him into a deeper involvement in the investigation, nor had she tried to mend their personal relationship at all. It was driving him mad.

Fleetingly, Snape wondered if Lily had ever been this conflicted after their last fight. She had severed their relationship without letting him explain or apologise, much as he'd done with Granger; had a time come when Lily had wished for an explanation? Closure? He was not unaware of the irony in the situation.

_Although it's not like I've made any kind of gesture that would indicate that I am open to said reconciliation… and now I'm left to infer and speculate what the hell is going on, just like old times. At least I get the pleasure of doing it under the threat of obliviation, rather than a drawn-out death or a long holiday in Azkaban's finest cell…_

The notion held no comfort, however. If his involvement was revealed to the other Unspeakables, there would be hell to pay. Taking a single memory or event from a wizard could be dangerous enough, but erasing something as complex as this, with his mental protections to boot? While most wizards and witches weren't strong at mind-magic, Severus had seen first-hand what a powerfully cast, multi-memory obliviate did to the minds of someone exceptionally talented at mind-magic, and it had been horrifying.

Granger had been correct to worry; sometimes the spell outright failed, but more often than not it took far more than the targeted memories, Gilderoy Lockhart being a prime example. If the witch or wizard had particularly strong shields and could not lower them, such as he did, the collapse of the mental protections could even trap him in the abyss of their own mind forever.

And then, of course, was the stress brought on by the fact that some pure-blood madman was faffing about with blood magic in the foulest way. Little wonder that he'd lost his temper more in the last week than in the whole of the previous year.

"Ahhh, from your glowing and vigorous countenance," a snide and nasally voice said from the far wall, "it would appear that you've just received a note from your lady love."

"She is not my lady love," Snape replied through gritted teeth, scowling at Phineas Nigellas Black.

"My apologies. What did you call her during that exceedingly diverting rant two weeks ago? Ah, yes, a manipulative, cold-hearted, Mata Hari wanna-be, bitch. At least you refrained from calling her a mudblood, unlike the last time you fell for a— "

"Don't make me take the turpentine to you, Black!"

The former Headmaster sneered right back, narrow face turning ugly. "If the good and great Dumbledore couldn't destroy me after all those years, then you hardly have a chance, boy!"

Snape took a deep breath in, nostrils flaring. "If I wanted advice, I would summon you. Clearly, I don't. Bugger off!"

"When you pull your head out of ass, I will be glad to do so. But alas, one of us portraits is magically-bond to act as your conscience, and I drew the short straw on this round. And as your conscience, I will again repeat: pull your head out of your ass and talk to Miss Granger! There is too much at stake for you to pout like a snot-nosed firstie!"

"I am not pouting," he hissed, his own avalanche of doubts about Hermione's motivations and doubts making him a liar.

"Have you told her about the increased incidences of illnesses among the pure-bloods and half-bloods?"

"No."

"Have you mentioned that the Hogwarts' House-Elves are reporting that elves in the service of pure-blood families are dying in droves?"

"No!"

"Then you are most definitely pouting, and more than that, you are putting everything that you bled and fought for in danger!"

Black was correct, damn him; Snape knew all too well how this game was played. His retort was weak at best and they both knew it. "You can't deny that she lied and used me."

"No." He shrugged, expression dismissive. "But do you really think that she did it all out of spite? And do you have a leg to stand on when it comes to that particular argument? You, who killed Dumbledore and watched Charity Burbage scream and die, among others?"

"You go too far!"

"Do I? No, I think not. She is a spy in dangerous times, just like you were. And she's just as ruthless as you were, and just as determined to finish the mission despite the personal costs. I would think that after all this time, you would be pleased to meet a woman who could well understand your particular moral greyscape." Black folded his arms over his chest and stared down at him. "Think of the bright side—now you can say that you understand how McGonagall felt after it was revealed that both you and Albus pulled the wool over her eyes. Stuff your pride, Headmaster, and follow the Scotswoman's lead in this. Forgive Miss Granger before it really does all go to pot!"

"It's not as bad as all that…" he mumbled, aware that it likely was as bad as all that. When Hermione had picked up a pair of emerald and pearl earrings from him last week, she'd looked brittle and battered underneath a robust glamour charm. Despite his anger, he'd wanted to hold her. He'd wanted to protect her. And he'd done none of those things; Severus had walked away from her.

"What did her note say?"

Snape didn't have to uncrumple the note to recite her brief message. "Bring the Jet and King Ruby Necklace'. Nothing else."

Black cocked his head. "That is the crown jewel of the Prince collection. Why do you think that she is choosing to wear that piece tonight? For fun? Because it matches her outfit? Not bloody likely. She's hunting tonight, and you'd better be there at her side."

Snape turned away, raking a hand through his hair, his thoughts and emotions rapidly seesawing. Was Black correct about matters coming to a head tonight? Was it worth it to try and mend fences with Granger? Could she ever forgive him? Did he even want her to?

In a voice far more sympathetic, Black said, "Go do your job, Severus, before all you are left with is regrets."

* * *

The hell of it, Hermione thought, was that despite everything, she still wanted Snape.

His inner rage had only magnified his charisma, and when he stared at her from across the room, it was like being bathed in a blast of pure sensuality. Bastard that he was, Snape had no compunction about using her body's awareness against her. Indeed, he used his weapons well over the weeks, whether it be a hidden hand brushing lightly on her hip, or a whispered comment, voice sliding over her skin like silk. It left her on edge for a variety of reasons.

Hovering at the edges of her mind were the memories of being held with exquisite tenderness, of a man worshipping her with his entire being, and the look of complete surrender as Severus came. It was those memories, more than anything, that prompted her to avoid the Headmaster as much as possible. If those recollections were agony to her, they had to feel even worse to him.

 _I just need to get through this night_ , Hermione reminded herself bracingly. _Just a few more hours, and this whole wretched mess will all be over…_

As if divining the nature of her thoughts, Snape appeared at her side for their customary dance. She hadn't told him that tonight was the night, but a certain edginess in his lean frame indicated that he had a fair idea of what was going on.

"We need to speak," he murmured near the end of the waltz, black eyes firmly fixed on her.

"Tonight isn't good," she whispered back, keeping her smile sultry. She could feel other eyes on her and knew that she was being watched carefully; the sensation made her skin crawl. Evil was in this ballroom, and it was stalking her.

"I don't care. It's important." His hand tightened on hers in clear warning. Snape manoeuvred them near a dark hallway, and when the music ended, dragged her down it. Opening a door, he pushed her into a deserted library.

Stepping back from the glowering man at her side, Hermione composed her expression, trying to hide the fact that her heart had started to pound at his nearness. Anticipation curled through her, and Hermione wondered what it said about her own character that she welcomed- was turned on be- any attention from Severus, even if he was furious at her. _Not again_ , she thought as her nipples crinkled, wondering how many times that she would be doomed to repeat the same mistakes from loneliness and need over and over again.

"What is it?" she asked, voice scrupulously neutral.

Snape watched her for a long moment before speaking. "There have been some anomalies at Hogwarts."

"What?" Hermione exclaimed, hands going to hips desire transmuting to anger. "Just what sort of anomalies are we talking about? And how long have you known about them?"

"Three days," he bit out defensively. "And so far, it's nothing conclusive. There have been higher incidences of illnesses among the pure-blood and half-blood students since the middle of last year. It could be coincidence brought on by differences in health care systems and upbringings-"

"But you don't think that is?

"No. I've done the arithmancy myself."

 _Fuck!_ "Why didn't you say something sooner?"

"Because I had only faint suspicions until three days ago, and I didn't think that you would care!"

The bald sentiment was a slap in the face, and it hurt badly. "Do you really think so little of me, Snape? Do you really think that I would just stand by as more innocent school children are hurt by the insane delusions of adults?"

He looked away. Infuriated, Hermione reached out and grabbed his chin, forcing him to meet her gaze. "Do you really think that poorly of me?" she demanded again, wanting to squeeze his jaw with enough force that his brain popped out the other side.

"No," Snape finally whispered. "No, I don't. I just don't want to face the fact that once again children under my protection are being hurt and I am powerless to stop it."

His admission was the closest to human as she'd seen in weeks, and it took the head off her anger in one fell swoop. She dropped her hand. "How serious are the illnesses?"

"So far, there have only been more cases pneumonia and bronchitis than usual. Poppy has successfully treated everyone, but that doesn't mean that she will always be able to do so if matters continue progressively worsen."

"No, it doesn't… is there anything else I need to know about?"

"The Matriarch of the Hogwarts House-Elves came to speak with me. Elves in the service of pure-blood families are dying in extremely high numbers."

"Of course," Hermione murmured, the picture abruptly becoming clearer. "Since the House-Elves are directly tied to household bloodlines, it would make sense that they take the brunt of it at first, and once they have all died, it would transfer to the humans of the house…"

"Talking about the state of your household help isn't really done in these circles," Snape confirmed. "And a house-elf dying unexpectedly is a sign of bad luck on the House. Hence the reason you likely haven't heard anything about it."

"No," she agreed, moving towards the door as she started to reassess her plans in light of his new information. "Anything else?"

Snape shook his head mutely.

Hermione took a deep breath in, gathering her thoughts. "I need you to go and tell Terence all this immediately. It's important that he knows."

Dark eyes focused on her, for once not full of rage. "Granger, what is wrong? What is it that you aren't telling me?"

"Nothing," she said crisply, lying her ass off. She had to get out of here and make her way to the orangery to wait for her foe before it all went to hell.

He didn't believe her denial and closed the gap between them instantly. "What is wrong?"

For one moment, she let herself think that maybe he cared about her, that his questions were about her wellbeing and not the case. But the weight of reality quickly crushed that dream, and she couldn't quite disguise her bitterness.

"What's wrong? Besides the obvious?" The gonging of a clock interrupted her. It was half-past ten, and she knew that she didn't dare linger in this room much longer. The last thing she wanted was to put Snape in more danger than he already was. "You've made your feelings clear enough, Snape. Go and tell Terence what you've told me. This will all be over soon enough."

His face twisted, black eyes a riot of conflicting emotions. "'This will be over soon enough?' That's all you are going to say? Do you have any idea what you have done to me, witch?"

"Nothing you haven't returned a thousand times over!" she hissed, infuriated that he dared to bring the personal in at such a moment.

"You lied to me!" he shouted back, and she could feel the antagonism rolling off him.

"Yes, to save your sorry hide! And I gave you every speck of truth that I could that night-"

"And I am also supposed to believe that your display of lust wasn't a ploy?" Snape interrupted with a sneer.

It was all too much. Yanking him by his robes, Hermione pulled herself into his heat and rose on her tiptoes. "Yes!"

Hermione lunged forward and kissed Severus, letting her need and anxiety drive the moment. Three weeks of fear and heartbreak, not to mention a lifetime's worth of loneliness came flooding out. He met her halfway, and she tasted his rage and betrayal, as well as the cost of his long-held isolation. At last, they spoke the same language, finding common ground as their tongues swirled and sparred.

"Is this all some sick game to you?" he hissed, pulling back abruptly. It was less of a question and more of a demand. "Or do you really want me?"

Panting heavily, Hermione looked up him, letting him see everything of her battered soul. "Yes. I want you."

His eyes glittered with a strange black fire, and when his hands reached for her neck, Hermione flinched. Fingers sliding over the heavy jet of the necklace, Severus swiftly undid the clasp and pulled it from her superheated skin. Hermione stared at him with confusion.

Holding the necklace away from his body, he dropped it onto the ground with deliberate distaste. "Mine," he rumbled. "This isn't about any stolen jewels...Right here, right now, you are mine."

He bent and dragged his lips over the exposed skin of her neck and then breasts, sparks chasing over her skin. Head falling back, Hermione moaned, caressing the silk of his black hair. His hands found her waist, and he picked her up; in less than a second, her back was hitting a wall, and his hips were grinding into hers with wicked intent.

"We can't," she gasped, quivering at the shameless stroke of his tongue in the vale between her breasts. "It's too risky!"

"I don't give a damn," he replied gruffly, breath washing over her breasts in hot exhalations. Gathering her against his rock-hard body, he kissed her again. "This isn't about anything but us…"

Panic mingling with desire, Hermione fought to keep her head. But her body was helpless against his demanding hands, and Severus pulled roughly at her dress. In no time at all, his palms hit her stockings and then slid over the bare skin of her thighs. She gasped as his fingers glided between her legs, pillaging and fondling her soft mound until she writhed with desperation.

"Severus… not now… if someone finds us…" she panted weakly, body straining towards him in direct contradiction to her words. "Later-"

"No." It was his turn to groan as he discovered how wet she was, a single digit slowly penetrating her slippery channel. "You wanted it fast, that first time. You wanted me to pound you into that mattress like the naughty girl you are… Shall I fuck you against this door right now? Make you scream so loud that everyone knows exactly what we are doing in here? Make sure that everyone knows that you are mine?"

Hermione met his intense stare, shivering at the possessive tone.

"Yes!" she whimpered, finally breaking.

Removing his hand, Severus fumbled with the fastenings of his trousers. Her knickers seemed to vanish of their own accord. Then he was urging her legs to twine around his hips, and she felt the heated press of his erection. Pressing her against the door, he flexed his core, and they both moaned at the sensation of slick flesh meeting.

The fear of discovery only heightened her senses, magnifying her need until she thought that she would burst into flame. Hermione deepened their kiss again, opening to him eagerly, desperate for his possession. His erection nudged against her insistently, all hot hardness and silken length, her hips jerking in an instinctive movement to accommodate him. Pushing more strongly, Severus entered her in one deep, sure thrust.

Hermione groaned as he filled her completely, body clamping tightly around the delicious invasion. One of his hands grasped her knee from beneath, urging her leg higher against his, and he pushed more strongly within her before withdrawing, setting a brutal pace.

She shuddered, her body clenching around his shaft, fire skating up her spine. Their clothes rustled together, crushed velvet and fine wool separating skin everywhere except where his cock drove into her heated core. She arched her back harder against the door, her body rising joyfully to meet his with each upward drive.

Utterly overcome, Hermione no longer cared about the risk, conscious only of the ecstasy of his flesh joined to hers. Muttering 'mine,' fiercely into the curve of her neck, he thrust faster, harder, creating silken friction. Each stroke made the ball of inescapable heat at her centre swell, and just as she thought she would blackout, a scalding orgasm washed over her. Smothering her hoarse cries with his mouth, Severus buried himself inside her a final time. His large body shook with the force of his violent release, and his groan rolling across her damp skin like thunder.

* * *

They remained fused together in the pulsing aftermath, breathing harshly, while his mouth moved gently over her slender neck in a series of tender kisses. Hermione tasted alluringly sweet and salty, and he longed to strip her completely and suckle every inch of her body until she surrendered to him once more.

Finally pulling away when his back threatened to give out, Severus grunted slightly as he took her full weight, stepping back from the door. Stumbling slightly, he turned them towards a long, low settee, making it to the leather seat without dumping her to the floor like a graceless clod.

Withdrawing from her body, he performed a cleansing spell over both of them and laboriously tucked himself back into his trousers. Her knickers were nowhere to be seen, and giving them up for a lost cause, pulled her black dress down and her into his lap. She didn't resist, curling up in his arms limply.

Feeling dazed, Severus could think of nothing to say.

The sound of nails clicking across the wooden floor caused him to look up. A crup had entered the library from the opposite door, and Severus belatedly wondered if the side door had been open the entire time. _Merlin, but have really turned into a piss poor spy..._

The black and white dog wandered closer, something in the stubby-legged gait striking him as odd. Mechanical, even. In his arms, Hermione stiffened, and a terrible sense of unease came over him.

Then the crup growled menacingly, and Severus saw that its eyes were glowing red.

Both of their wands came out in a flash.

The beast stopped, body vibrating with malevolence as it stared them down. From the shadows, seven more crups emerged, double tails wagging with vicious, gleeful excitement.

Hermione slid off his lap and onto her feet, fiddling with her bracelet oddly. He rose as well, keeping a hand on her hip and wondering what the hell she was up to.

"What is this?" he asked softly, half knowing the answer already.

Granger was composed as she silently summoned the Prince necklace to her from where it had been lying on the carpet. "Sir Edward?" she called in a conversational voice. "I do believe I have something that you want, but you are going to have to come out of the shadows to get it."

The balding, stooped-shouldered wizard came into the room, a wand pointing back at them.

"You mudbloods are always so brash and overconfident," he said with distaste, eyeing the necklace dangling from Hermione's fingers. "But that is down to breeding, isn't it?"

"And pure-bloods are almost always inbred, idiotic bigots," Hermione returned sweetly. "Alas, the game is up, Montblanc-Rowle. Put down your wand if you want to make to Azkaban alive."

The older man laughed nastily. "Oh, I don't think so, you filthy little whore. You'll not be giving me orders in my own manor. You hand over the necklace, and I won't make you suffer too much before I kill you."

Without waiting for an answer, he flipped a purple bolt of lightning in their direction; it smacked into their combined shield spells with a wet hiss and shower of sparks. In the resulting silence, Severus could hear the faint strains of music and laughter coming from the ballroom.

Montblanc-Rowle inched closer, the crups mirroring his movement and forming a half-circle around them.

Hermione nodded slowly. "That's how you gained access to all of the houses. The crups."

"You're a clever slag, I'll give you that," Montblanc-Rowle sneered. "Yes, my precious crups are found in every pure-blood household in Britain. They are the most fashionable familiar, after all, and everyone recognises the superiority of my breeding lines. But they don't recognise my superiority, even though I have the purest lineage of anyone. Even the dirty Muggle Queen calls me Sir, but this selfish, ignorant lot? No, I am nothing but a joke to them. Sir Edward and his prized crups! But the joke is on them, isn't?" He chuckled, crooked teeth flashing. "Easy enough to spell a crup at birth for possession, and when people are foolish enough to make them familiars, I can use that magical bond to get through household wardings without issue."

He withdrew a tangled, glittering mass from his robes. With mounting horror, Snape realised that it was all of the jewellery that had been stolen, fused together by an act of dark magic. "And now, I have these… blood-tied magical stones from almost every family. They will recognise my dominance, or they will die in enormous amounts of pain."

Throughout the madman's rambling monologue, it was an effort for Severus to remain passive. Given that she had apparently known the identity of the thief, it stood to reason that Hermione had a plan. Still, his fingers itched and wondered if he could get away with casting some latent protective spells around them as the fool babbled on.

As if sensing his intent, the crups came nearer, one perilously close to his ankle.

_Do I chance kicking it away?_

"Such dirty, nasty thoughts, Headmaster," Montblanc-Rowle called in a singsong voice, jabbing his wand into the jewels and twisting it violently.

His blood—his very magic—seemed to give an odd jangle before an avalanche of intense, electric pain ripped through his nerves, dropping Severus to his knees. The world went grey for a moment, and he didn't even have enough control to draw in breath to scream; after an eternity, the agony ended, and he was left sweating and shaking on the hard floor. He had almost no control over his limbs.

"It's such a pity he's only a dirty half-blood and doesn't get to experience the full effects of the curse. Ms Granger," Montblanc-Rowle continued calmly, "you will give me the necklace or I will kill him right now."

"No," she responded, and magic exploded around them in a ferocious, disorientating thunderclap.

The chaos of the detonating library was like being turned inside out at the same time as hurtling through a floo. Severus felt the wards of the house shatter, and an instant later, a flurry of red-robed figures apparated into the library, wands belching out binding spells as they landed. The crups were suddenly howling along with their master, and each yipping emission sent a bolt of dark magic through the air. The foul curses took out several of the Unspeakables instantly, the metallic tang of blood filling the air. Vaguely, he recognised several of the faces as their hoods fell back in the fight.

Severus had dropped his wand when he had been hit and was frantically scrabbling along the floor for the ebony length, half-hidden under the settee. Hermione was covering him with a shielding spell while also repelling Montblanc-Rowle's furious advance; one of the crups leapt at her, a flash of purple hitting Hermione square in the abdomen. For a moment, she did not falter, and he thought that her shield had dissipated the spell.

But it wasn't to be. Arm coming up to cover her stomach, her face went strangely slack, and she crumpled to the ground. There was blood—a truly massive amount of blood—and he thought he could see something that appeared suspiciously like intestines leaking out of a deep wound.

A broad-shouldered, red-robed figure whirled protectively in front of Hermione, throwing out a _Reducto_ that took out half the wall. Montblanc-Rowle finally went down. Hermione didn't even twitch.

_No… Nononono…. Not again!_

Severus' fingers finally closed around his wand, and he lurched towards Hermione's still form… only to be confronted with a glowing tip of a wand.

"Obliva-" he heard someone roar, and with a superhuman effort, spun himself into an Apparition and towards the sanctuary of Hogwarts.

Hitting the floor of the Head's office, Severus blacked out.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A.N.~ Any thoughts, dear readers? ;)
> 
> As always, my most sincere thanks to everyone who is continuing to follow this story, and hugs all who took the time to leave comments.
> 
> Happy reading!


	7. Chapter 7

Consciousness was slow in coming, and at first, Severus could only feel the hard floor underneath him, and a sticky, wet substance coating his face and chest. Eventually, the smell was what roused him; he was covered in the acidic remains of vomit.

"Snape...! For Merlin's sake, boy, get up, or I will call that bloody medi-witch in here, and you'll have to fend off her infernal fussing! Get up!"

Groaning, Snape pried open his eyes. Phineas Nigellas was hovering in the nearest portrait, looking panicked.

"Thank the Gods," the former Headmaster exclaimed, and Snape could hear the muted rumble as the other Heads chimed in.

"Quiet," he pleaded shakily, head pounding. The room went silent.

Pulling himself into a sitting position, he tried to magic off the sick. It didn't do much. The spell was only a weak flicker of what it should have been, and it was clear that he was dangerously depleted.

"Winky," he called and flinched as the elf cracked in.

"Headmaster?" she asked, ears flopping with distress as she took in his condition.

"I need my black bag."

The house-elf didn't wait for any further orders, vanishing and reappearing in the space of several heartbeats. His large black medicinal bag was clutched to her chest.

Carefully placing it in front of him, the elf blinked rapidly. "Is the Headmaster wanting anything else? Madame Pomfrey? The Deputy Headmistress?"

"No," he said swiftly. "I want you to make sure that no one enters this room until I say so. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Headmaster," she squeaked and was gone again.

With shaking hands, he removed several phials from the bag and drank them. The potions resolved his lingering nausea, but not the numbness in his hands and feet. Casting a diagnostic spell was out of the question, and Snape was tempted to call in Pomfrey.

 _No_ , he finally decided. _It's too dangerous to bring her in on this; I don't want to risk getting her obliviated as well when the Unspeakables come calling. There is no way Poppy would not ask questions about these injuries…_

Reaching for a luridly pink vial, he swallowed it with reluctance. It was both a stimulant and a painkiller that could practically raise the dead, but the crash coming down was nearly as bad as the symptoms that it cured. In short order, his nerves and blood were humming with fake vitality, and he could lever himself off the floor and into a chair.

The cleaning charm worked the second time, and he closed his eyes, seeing the glowing wand pointing at him and Hermione's still, bloody figure sprawled on the floor writ large in his mind's eye. She had to be alive.

_What can I do?_

Apparating anywhere was completely out of the question, and Snape wasn't even sure if he had enough magic to make a portkey.

_Should I summon Potter? He would gladly ride to the rescue…_

"What happened?" Black asked softly, and Snape jolted back to the present.

"Madness," he answered tiredly, thoughts running in useless circles. "Sheer madness. It went to hell, and then a whole host of Unspeakables showed up..."

A cold tingle suddenly went up his spine, and Snape stiffened. Someone was at the gates and demanding entry; for a moment, he wondered if it was Hermione. But the Hogwarts protections shuddered again, determining that the person at the gates was a threat. He stood on shaking knees, surprised at how depleted he still was even with the stimulant.

"Someone is at the gates," he said uselessly, and Phineas nodded.

"Is it?..."

"No. Not Hermione. It's their Head, I think. The person is spitting mad, whoever it is."

"What are you going to do?"

He shrugged, debating briefly about taking another potion. "Go down and see what they want. See if Hermione is…" His voice cracked, and he couldn't finish the sentence.

"Will you take someone else?"

"No."

Phineas made an angry noise, and Severus turned to glare at him.

"Do you really want me to risk another member of staff? As long as I stay within the Hogwarts wards, they can't touch me."

"Fine," the other man snarled. "But be careful! I don't want to have to train yet another Headmaster, and Nimue knows the board is highly unlikely to nominate another Slytherin anytime soon."

* * *

It was a long walk down to the gates, and Snape knew that he looked like utter shite by the time he reached the base of the hill because he felt even worse. As expected, a red-robed figure was waiting impatiently for him, and he took his bloody time navigating the last hundred or so metres.

"Is she alive?" he demanded, a final whiff of adrenaline coming to his rescue as he came even with gates.

To his surprise, the hood fell back, and the hard expression of Moira Burke gazed back at him. She had been a quiet girl a year or two ahead of him as well as a Slytherin prefect; he knew nothing about her life post-Hogwarts which fit if she'd gone into the Department of Mysteries.

She ignored his question. "I learned any number of questionable things tonight, Headmaster, chief of which was that a major security breach had been covered up by one of my best sets of agents and that you have been thoroughly involved in the entire charade from nearly the start."

"Is. She. Alive?" he growled again, fear eating away at him.

Moira glared right back. "Step out of the gates, and I'll tell you."

"And then get myself obliviated for my troubles? I think not, Madam Unspeakable," he returned mockingly.

Her lips thinned in frustration. "Don't use that tone with me, Snape. In addition to losing several of my agents tonight, I am well within my rights to be furious at the blatant disregard for protocol that has put us all at risk of discovery. And then, of course, is the mess that I am left with caused by Sir Edward Fucking Montblanc-Rowle and his pack of killer crups!"

"Paperwork is such a time-killer, isn't it?" he said, maintaining his sarcasm.

"Snape-" she began again, but he cut her off.

"Tell me if she lives or fuck right off, Moira. I don't have any more patience than you tonight." _Was Hermione one of those who had died? Christ, please, not again!_

Burke eyed him silently for over a minute. When she spoke once more, her voice was reasonably calm.

"I am not my predecessor, Headmaster Snape. I do not allow breaches of security simply because I am friends with someone; that sort of vulnerability was exploited by both Albus Dumbledore and Tom Riddle, and it led to the deaths of many agents, as well as the destruction of decades of priceless work in my department. You now know the identities of several of my Unspeakables and have a considerable amount of information about an open investigation that is highly classified. I cannot allow you to wander around freely with that knowledge without risking further lives, not to mention the very stability of our government."

"Bullshite," Snape said flatly. "I am the strongest Occlumens in all of Europe. Do remember that I kept quite a few secrets from the Dark Lord, to say nothing of Albus Dumbledore- for decades. Furthermore, I'm not an idiot. I would hardly go around yapping about bloodline curses and attempted takeovers to the first person I see. There is no risk in leaving my memories untouched."

Burke shook her head. "I don't make exceptions, Snape. You can come with me now, and I will have our best person available obliviate you to ensure you keep your mind and your magic. You can, of course, decline my generous offer. But the instant you leave this Castle, we will hunt you down and I will take your memories from you forcibly, consequences be damned. I cannot say that it will leave you sound of mind or body."

Anger flooded his veins and sharpened his senses. "You want me to be Obliviated? Fine. Send Granger to do your dirty work. It's her fault I was involved in this shit show. Until then, I repeat, fuck off."

His heated words didn't get the response that he had hoped for. Moira's voice was almost gentle when she spoke again. "Snape, she can't."

"Can't come to me," he snarled, terror cracking his mask, "or won't?"

"Can't," the woman repeated and then disappeared with a crack.

* * *

Snape couldn't even summon his Patronus.

Seven hours of trying and he was left with absolutely nothing. Perhaps it was due to lingering magical depletion or the aching fear that Hermione was dead, but regardless, he was unable to conjure even the faintest spark of light from his useless wand.

He had sent Phineas to Grimmauld Place in hopes of hearing something from the Potters and was at a loss for something else to do in the meantime. His owl to Hermione had returned with the letter undelivered, and it was clear that the memories of all the parties involved were swiftly being altered via a wickedly strong confundus charm. A floo conversation with Narcissa had revealed that she recalled nothing amiss at Montblanc-Rowle Manor, or indeed, many of the details of the jewellery heists that she had previously known. She now thought her missing necklace was an isolated incident, not part of a wider conspiracy. Most frightening of all, she did not remember Hermione's presence except in the vaguest of terms.

"Darling," she trilled, "why do you keep asking about that ghastly woman as if I would pay the least bit of attention to her?"

"Never mind," he answered flatly. "I was mistaken in something I thought."

"Are you well? You look terrible." Narcissa sighed heavily, worry coming into her expression. "Listen, I know it was rather unfair of me to shove this all on you, and so Lucius and I decided to go to the Aurors and see if they have any luck recovering the necklace."

"You what?"

"Don't be mad, it's not a reflection on anything that you've done or any lack of confidence in your skills. We might as well use the Ministry to our own ends. I didn't know this, but Lucius got the piece insured several months ago. If they can't find it, we will at least get a sizable payout for our troubles."

"Lovely," he said with a grimace, horrified at how much of Narcissa's memory and mind had been modified. While the confundus charm was far less dangerous than an obliviate, observing the wide-scale memory work meted out by the Ministry made him feel like a character in a dystopian novel.

"I'm glad you think so. Will I see you later this week at the Shafiq's dinner?"

"I don't know. Perhaps."

"Do come, Severus. It's not healthy for you to hide yourself away in Hogwarts like it's a monastery, and the Shafiqs put on the nicest spread. Why last year, they had this turkey curry buffet-"

"I will consider it," he interrupted, seeing Phineas re-entering his frame with a grim look. "I need to go, Narcissa. Duty calls."

"Of course," she replied, smiling calmly as she broke the connection.

"Well?" he demanded, and the portrait only shook his head.

"I told Potter that Granger had missed an important meeting with you and that you were rather put out about it."

"And?" Snape asked, dread making it hard to speak.

"Nothing doing. Potter did receive a cheery note from her this morning, but I doubt it was authentic. Supposedly, she's gone to Australia to check on her parents and will be incommunicado for several weeks."

"Of course," he snarled, a helpless, impotent rage filling him.

"What are you going to do?" Phineas asked.

Severus sank down into his chair and rested his head in his hands. If he had something of Hermione's—a hair or blood sample, even an item of clothing—there were spells that could be used to track her, but he had nothing.

Absolutely nothing but memories.

"Wait."

* * *

Three days later, the entire Castle creaked with the emotional havoc that was the rapidly unravelling composure of the Headmaster. There had been no further word from Moira Burke. He kept to the office for everyone's protection, wearing a hole in the Axminister with his pacing.

He was still furious with Hermione; his sense of betrayal had not lessened any. But that feeling was counterbalanced by the remembrance of her desperate, heartbroken expression just before she had kissed him in the library. Given what he had learned of Montblanc-Rowle's evil plan, he could no longer fault her ruthless decision making; it was a match to his own. While he did not like the circumstances of their re-acquaintance, he no longer could quibble with them.

At the end of the day, his heart had finally overruled his mind and his ego. Severus wished with every fibre of his being that he would get a chance to talk things out with Hermione.

Was it love? He didn't know. Whether it be for his mother or Lily, the sentiment had always been a confusing, complex one, and more a double-edged sword than anything positive. Certainly what he felt for Hermione wasn't of the soft and tender persuasion- at least not entirely- but strongly resembled the possessive obsession that he'd felt for Lily.

There was a key difference, however: when Lily had ended their friendship so long ago, he had been driven to not just regain her affection for him, but to prove to her what a mistake she had made in not forgiving him in the first place, in choosing Potter over him. There had been a bitter and vindictive edge to his desperate anger, and it was rage that had only been extinguished when it became clear what colossal mistake Severus had made in going to the Dark Lord with Sybill Trelawney's prophecy.

Severus felt nothing of the sort towards Hermione now. He had no stomach for proving her wrong, or dragging her through the mud for her actions; he simply wanted to forgive her and have a chance to be forgiven in return. Indeed, he wanted her, mind, body, and soul. But he did not even know if Hermione lived, and that was driving him just as mad as a poorly cast obliviate would.

His anxiety did not go unnoticed; both Poppy and Minerva came to speak with him. After all that had happened between them during his first year as Headmaster, he was touched by their obvious concern as well the fact that they dared to visit him in his lair in such high dudgeon.

Poppy was twisting a handkerchief into a knot as she watched him from across the large black desk. "Severus… what is wrong?"

"It's a personal matter. Hogwarts is not in danger."

"Is there anything that we can do?" Minerva asked crisply.

"No. Not without putting yourself at risk."

Minerva slanted him a hard look. "And you think that we would be unwilling to risk our safety for you?"

Unexpectedly, Severus felt his eyes prick; he did not deserve their compassion, but it touched him nonetheless.

"I do not doubt your courage, Minerva, or yours, Poppy. But I will not leave Hogwarts to flounder if something should happen to me."

Both women stared at him, aghast.

"It's not… surely things are not that dire, are they?"

"I don't know. I may shortly make a decision that is based on my personal desires rather than my responsibilities as Headmaster. Should that happen, and something impacts my ability to fulfil my duties, I will expect that you will take over without hesitation, Minerva."

"Severus… lad…"

He shook his head, and then looked to the grave coterie of former heads that were silently watching from the walls. "They know what happened, and should you be called on to take mastery of the school, you will be given the information under an unbreakable binding. I am sorry to keep it from you like this, Min, but I don't have a choice. I am being as honest about things as I can be."

Minerva did not like his answer, that much was clear. But she also saw what a wreck he was and chose to trust him. She rose and bowed formally. "As you wish, Headmaster."

 _If I somehow come out of this with my mind intact,_ he vowed, _I will live better. I will put aside my hurts and bitterness, and I will do it better, no matter the pain…_

"Thank you," he replied with an equal amount of gravitas, rising.

In short order, both women left him to his bleak thoughts. He resumed pacing, the knot of tension unbearably tight.

"Phineas," he called finally, watching the dying winter sun sink behind the mountains and under the fathomless waters of the lake.

"Headmaster Snape," Black acknowledged, lips pressed into a thin line as he awaited the decision.

"I can wait no longer."

"Gods be with you," the other man said formally, and Snape pulled on his travelling cloak in a flurry of wool and angst.

"And with you." Taking a calming breath, he spun free of Hogwarts' sanctuary and into the dark unknown.

* * *

The cramped garden shed was exactly as he remembered it. Hermione's household wards, however, had been massively changed. Her magic was still there but comprised only a passive foundation. The sentience that had so impressed him was all but gone. Either someone had broken in and mended them minimally, or Hermione was, in fact, dead.

At that realisation, he gagged, the thought of having lost her forever making him violently ill. Throwing open the narrow shed door, he fell to his knees and heaved into the overgrown grass until there was nothing but bile burning the back of his throat. Shakily, he wiped his mouth and gazed around; it appeared that no one was lying in wait for him.

Making his way to the kitchen door, he tested the knob carefully, finding it unlatched. The interior of the house was silent as a tomb, and he saw no trace of her cat.

Slowly, he walked through the empty rooms, seeking some sort of definitive clue as to Hermione's well-being. Severus found her childhood bedroom on the second floor, the number of books rivalled only by her menagerie of plush animals. In contrast, her parents' bedroom appeared to be half-ransacked as if they had left with only a minimal chance to pack. Severus wondered if it had sat abandoned like this for years.

The house creaked around him as he made his way down the second-floor corridor to the back bedroom. After the way that he had rejected her, it felt like a violation to enter her bedchamber. Standing at the closed door for over five minutes, he debated whether or not to enter. His curiosity finally won out, and cautiously, he opened the door.

The air smelled slightly of Hermione, not a manufactured, mass-produced scent, but something far more subtle and elusive. It brought to mind the peace found in her arms, and he wanted to weep for those lost moments. Running a hand over the smooth coverlet of her bed, Severus gazed around the bare room, once again struck with the austerity of the space.

If the house made one thing clear, it was that the self-inflicted loss of her parents had wounded her terribly, and she had never recovered from that estrangement.

Spinner's End had been much like this, the dismal nature reflecting what he felt was an apt punishment for his many sins. Oh, Hermione's childhood home offered far more creature comforts for sure, but they only served to needle her further with what had been lost.

He wondered if Potter had seen and understood this side of Hermione, or if he had accepted her competence at face value; he questioned if there was anyone else who would know her well enough to see the gaping wounds that remained. Little wonder she had been stuck.

Severus wandered around the house for an hour, and still no one came for him. Ending up in the lounge, he finally sunk down into the overstuffed sofa. A plush throw lay across the back, and he stroked it. It was covered in orange cat hair but smelled like Hermione. Pulling it into his lap, he gave in to the exhaustion that had been dogging him for days. Severus slept.

* * *

The sound of footsteps roused him from a light doze, and Severus' brain kicked into overdrive immediately, the small details of the room coming into rapid focus as adrenaline rocketed through him.

Moira Burke strode into the room, a pale-faced, hunched Hermione leaning heavily on her arm.

 _Oh, thank god!_ Severus was on his feet and rushing towards her in an instant, but Burke blocked his path.

"I am giving you far more than I should, Headmaster. You get the answer to your question, and as you requested, Hermione will be performing the Obliviate." Her tight smile was grim but not at all victorious. "Lucky for you, she insisted on doing the deed herself, and she is the best at it. Who at Hogwarts knows what has occurred?"

"Just the portraits," Snape told her tiredly, unable to tear his eyes from Hermione. "I would not put my staff at risk, and the former heads are all bound to silence by their enchantments." Burke raised a sceptical brow at that, and he pointed his wand towards the ceiling in the traditional manner. "Do you want me to swear it upon my magic, Moira?"

"No. You've never let anyone take your punishment before. I will trust you on this." The Head of the Unspeakables turned her head and eyed Hermione for a long moment. "You have ten minutes to settle your business, Granger."

Without another word, she left, and they heard the kitchen door open and shut behind her just short of a slam. His mouth went dry. There would be no reprieve, and panic flared up before he clamped down hard on his emotions. Severus had known that this would be the likely outcome, and he had judged it an acceptable price to pay to find out if Hermione lived. Now the only thing left to do was to apologise and pray that it was enough.

Hermione appeared more than poorly; she looked like death warmed over and then killed again for good measure. Her skin was a bright, cartoonish yellow, indicating some sort of liver failure; she also couldn't stand up straight, and a fine sheen of sweat dotted her forehead as she struggled to remain standing in the hallway.

"Sit," he ordered gruffly, wanting to touch her so badly that it hurt, but there was nothing in her expression that made him think it would be welcome.

She did so gingerly, eyes avoiding his.

"What is wrong with you?" he asked, making a mental list of medicinal potions based on her appearance. Abruptly, he remembered that he was about to be obliviated and it would not matter if there were ways that he could help heal her; he would not remember any of this come the morning.

"I am growing a new liver and kidney, among other things," she told him quietly. "The healers are confident that there will be no lasting issues."

"Good." He sat across from her, not wanting to hover like some woollen vulture. "Did Higgs make it?"

Hermione glanced up, surprised by his question. "Yes. He's unhurt."

"I'm sorry, Hermione," he said, voice catching. "I acted abominably— "

She put up a shaking hand. "Please don't feel like you need to apologise. You have every right to be furious with me. I used you horribly and repeatedly lied by omission. I do not blame you at all for your reaction."

"But I do. I may not like the choices that you made, but I do understand them. If we are being perfectly honest, I likely would have chosen similarly had our roles been reversed."

She let out a bitter chuckle. "How can you say that? Do you know why I sucked you off in that closest? It wasn't just because Terence was trying to get information out of Montblanc-Rowle and I couldn't risk you overhearing their conversation. No, I was mad at you- I warned you off, and you still came after me. I wanted to punish you the only way I could!"

Her words hurt him, but not in the fashion intended; they made Severus ache for Hermione's sake, for the way that she purposely sought to re-confirm her own culpability in a situation that had pushed them all past the brink of normal behaviour.

"Were those the only reasons that compelled you to touch me, Hermione?" he persisted. "Because I think there was far more going on than merely that. I told myself that I was going after you because of the missing jewels, but that was just an excuse. I wanted you like nothing else, and it terrified and enraged me in equal measures. And so what did I do? Unable to sort any of that blasted mess out, I cornered you and kissed you the first chance I got."

Hermione looked away, and he knew that he'd struck a chord; she'd wanted him just as badly as he wanted her, and it had aroused a similarly confused welter of sentiment within her.

"Do you know why I allowed the Carrows to torture your friends and fellow students? Why I tortured them?" he queried softly, not waiting for her response. "I couldn't risk the Dark Lord having any doubt that I wasn't his man through and through. Their considerable pain served as a guarantee that he wouldn't replace me with someone truly bent on evil. And I will tell you this: it blackened my soul more than any murder ever did. But the worst of it was that there was also a horrid corner of my being that had no compunction about inflicting suffering upon those residing in the Castle. After all, when had they ever seen me as anything other than Death Eater scum? Even as a child, they had seen me as deserving nothing other than pain and suffering. And then that first year as Headmaster… they only saw me as pure evil. Even Minerva and Poppy, my two closest confidants in the Castle, didn't see through the mask or the ruse. Didn't question that I was anything other than the great betrayer."

Severus' voice cracked at the powerful recollection of those dark days. "I punished them for it, and at the end, I felt worthy of only a terrible death. Hermione… I do not like the choices that you made, but then, I don't like many of the choices I've made over the years, either. For what it's worth, I forgive you, and I hope that you can pardon my actions as well. The way that I shamed you, and let others speak about you… please don't let what I did haunt you, or make you feel any less than the magnificent woman and witch you are."

Eyes fluttering shut by the end of his speech, Severus watched Hermione's face go pasty. "Thank you for that. You are being incredibly generous about all of this. There is nothing I can say other than I am terribly sorry. And I do forgive you."

Reaching across the vast gulf that separated them, he placed a light hand on her knee, hoping to impart some comfort. "Please try and forgive yourself as well. Believe me when I say that attempting to atone for anything without forgiving yourself is both a Sisyphean and pyrrhic endeavour."

"I will try," she whispered.

"One more thing," he stated firmly and waited until she met his eyes. He would not burden her further with his feelings, but Severus would be damned if he didn't at least let her know that he cared. "Please don't cut yourself off from happiness. Don't let yourself remain alone just because you think that is all you deserve."

A single tear rolled down her cheek. "I will try," she repeated, but there was no conviction in her tone. The sight of that tear was a dagger to the heart, and only the knowledge that it would make her task all that much harder kept Severus from breaking down as well.

A glance at the clock confirmed that they had only minutes left.

"How shall we do this?"

Hermione pulled two small vials from a pocket. "This one will help thin your mental shields; if you can trust me enough to try and lower them further, there will be a greater chance for success."

"And the second?"

Her smile was anaemic. "Industrial-strength wit sharpener for me."

"Is there anything else I need to do?"

"A trance state would be helpful, but I understand that it may be too much to ask."

"I will attempt it." Snape paused, knowing his next words would hurt her more. "Hermione… you have to take it all. A targeted obliviate and a confundus won't be enough."

She froze. "What do you mean?"

"I am not a man that does things in half-measures… that night, at the Greengrass', I came away thoroughly obsessed with figuring out the contradictions in your story... I became obsessed with you. Indeed, I spent the better part of two weeks trying to figure out how to draw you into my orbit. If you leave anything of that evening…"

"You will continue to seek me out." Her face turned into a lifeless mask.

"Yes. And given our combined luck, that will likely result in us ending up back in the same situation at some point."

"What if I planted an aversion?"

A bark of rough laughter escaped. "If seven years as a student and as Potter's best friend didn't provide enough of an aversion to your presence, then nothing will. You have to take it all."

She nodded, silently handing him the vial. He knocked back the concoction in one gulp, feeling only the faintest tingle as the potion was absorbed.

"You should feel an increasing sense of relaxation as well as trust," she intoned flatly, gaze opaque.

Snape closed his eyes, probing his mental landscape. Nothing felt different, but then, he already trusted Hermione with everything of importance. Slowing his breathing, he worked on entering a calm state. He heard a second pop as she uncorked the second vial and drank it down.

"Are you ready?" she asked.

"Yes." Letting his black regard meet hers, Severus lowered every mental shield that he had control over. "Obliviation is worth it, Hermione. To be able to have the chance to apologize, to ask for forgiveness… to finally know that you are alive. That knowledge, even fleeting, is worth any risk. And I have faith that you will do your best."

"Thank you." She was perched on the edge of the armchair, wand out and pointed at him. Severus saw a woman who would do her duty even as it broke her.

Her lips moved.

"Oblivia…"

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A.N.~ The final chapter will be posted next week.
> 
> As ever, my thanks to all who continue to read, kudo, and follow! Cheers to all those who left comments on the previous chapter.
> 
> Wishing everyone the best of health in all this COVID-19 madness. Wash your hands(!) and happy reading!


	8. Chapter 8

Intent, Hermione knew, was just as important as skill and knowledge. That was why she had insisted that she be the one to perform Snape's obliviation; she could not trust anyone else to not harbour any resentment or ill will towards the Headmaster and have it unconsciously affect the spell and thus his mind. The last thing that she wanted to do was hurt him, and she would willingly break her mind and magic before doing that to him.

He sat loose-limbed and calm on her parent's sofa, dark eyes opened wide; in the back of her mind, she recalled her mother and father sitting the same way as she obliviated them out of her life over a decade before.

They had not fought her because they had not known something was amiss until it was too late.

Severus was not fighting her either.

And it was that, more than anything that shattered her calm. Severus Snape was a man who fought everything and everyone, who never let down his defences. And yet he had left the safety of Hogwarts, willingly submitted himself to obliviation, had apologised and tried to offer comfort… why?

_Why is he passively accepting this? Why isn't he fighting me?_

In Severus' open mind, she found an answer.

He called it obsession, but it was far more complex than that. It was recognition and respect. There was a fierce need to protect and shelter, and a deep longing to be needed. To care for her in all the ways that he could. Despite all the facades that she had thrown up, he had recognised the essential core of her and found something good in it.

It tasted a lot like love.

"Oblivia-" she heard her herself say, as if from a great distance.

Abruptly, Hermione's throat closed up and her wand shook wildly as something shattered within. The last syllable of the spell would not come. "Oh, god," she groaned, everything collapsing into shambles around her. "I can't… I can't do this again."

Because the truth was, she loved him too.

She always had been in awe of him, of his intelligence and fearsome drive. Hermione had been stunned by the full extent of his sacrifices at the end of the war; she had often wondered how he had the fortitude to endure the abuse over the decades. And then at a ridiculous dinner party, she had met Severus, the man, not the fearsome Professor Snape.

He was flawed, yes, but he was so much more than the sum of his parts, something he'd demonstrated by his brutally honest confessions and keen observations. He'd also had been utterly correct in his assessment that the overwhelming nature of their attraction had frightened and angered her. But in the fleeting, tender moments that they had shared in this house, Hermione had felt safe and loved in a way that she could barely remember. It had been an unexpected boon, and one she could not cast into oblivion.

Her wand hit the floor with a noisy clatter, and then Hermione was sobbing with the full force of a Scottish gale. Somehow, she ended up in his arms, and the delicious heat of his body almost hurt after the weeks of living in the perpetual chill of a half-life.

Burrowing her face in the spicy, soothing scent of his robes, she wept for what they were losing.

Severus didn't try to shush her, or croon useless words of comfort; he simply held her, one hand pressing her into the sanctuary of his embrace, and the other tracing the length of her spine back and forth.

Uncounted minutes passed, and Hermione finally breached the surface of her grief. She could feel heavy eyes on her and knew it wasn't Severus. Shifting, she turned to look towards the doorway.

Moira was framed in the arch, wand out and magic buzzing as she prepared to cast spells of binding and confinement.

They both stiffened, and Hermione understood the price of this failure. Fumbling for the catch of her bracelet, she took it off. With a wandless incantation, she restored one of the dangling charms into her Unspeakable badge and offered it up in recognition.

"I am sorry," Hermione said, voice still rough with emotion. "I can't do it. I can't do this anymore."

"You are giving up your commission as an Unspeakable?" the other woman asked, not reaching for the bracelet.

"Yes. I would have done so regardless. What I did…"

A flicker of anger appeared in Moira's expression, her regard shifting over to Severus accusingly.

"It isn't his fault," Hermione explained hastily. "I didn't just break all the cardinal rules of the Unspeakables. I broke too many of mine, as well."

Severus' hand reached out, the long, nimble fingers twining with hers in solidarity.

"Granger, you do realise that this means that I will have to obliviate the both of you? And given that I don't have your talent at mind magics, it likely won't go well? I could turn your brains into little more than scrambled eggs with the tiniest mistake. Are you really prepared to take that risk?"

Hermione sucked in a sharp breath. _Oh god_ , she thought, feeling sick. _My weakness is going to get Severus killed. I have to be the one to obliviate him. It's the only way that he'll have a decent chance of making it through this!_ For a painful moment she stared at her wand on the floor, but the force of will and determination that had carried her through so many travails was finally exhausted; Hermione knew that she would never be able to harm Severus in such a fashion, even to save him from a greater pain.

Stricken, she turned back to look at Severus. "I'm so sorry. I know I should be the one to do this, but I just... can't. I destroyed my parent's love for me by obliviating them eleven years ago, and it broke me into a million pieces. It's selfish and weak of me, but I can't do it all over again… even knowing the costs, I just can't do it to you."

Unexpectedly, Severus smiled. It was a gentle expression, and one with such an empathetic comprehension that it brought a fresh round of tears to Hermione's eyes. "I understand. It's alright."

"It's not," she sniffed, guilt attacking her anew.

"It is. Hermione… if I were forced to go back in time and relive watching Charity's murder, or aid in the torture of countless people… if I had to go back and kill Albus Dumbledore once more to save Hogwarts, I could not do it. Even knowing that it would likely mean the war not ending in our favour, I could not stand by and do it all over again. There is a limit to what we can withstand, and I don't blame you for having hit that limit."

"It's not fair that you will have to pay for my mistakes."

His smile turned a shade wry. "Life isn't fair and you know it. Moreover, do I really need to remind you that I was an active and willing participant in our downfall?" With his free hand, Severus brushed a tear from her cheek. "I didn't expect to live to see the end of the war. To be perfectly frank, I didn't wish to. But by some quirk of fate I did, and I don't regret any of it for one moment. These last ten years have been a gift. I was given the chance to make my apologies, to have the time to create a legacy that wasn't all about hate and poor choices. To finally… live. If the worst happens… it happens. I knew the consequences in coming here, and it was worth it to know you live."

From the doorway, Moira made a harsh sound. "What am I supposed to do with the two of you?" she inquired acidly, wand lowering abruptly.

"I am sorry," Hermione repeated uselessly, weariness and pain swamping her all at once. She sagged into Severus' arms, all fight gone.

The apology didn't appease Moira. "Do you have any idea what you've done, Hermione? By breaking our rules and then refusing to clean up the resulting mess, you've backed me into a right nasty corner. On one hand, there are the vows that I made when I became the Head of the Department of Mysteries to protect and guard those under my care… and then there are the two of you, looking every bit like wide-eyed puppies who have just been thrown into the burlap sack meant for drowning."

Tapping her wand against her leg with irritation, Moira released a put-upon sigh. "And do you really think I relish the thought of lobotomising not only my brightest agent but the reformist Headmaster of Hogwarts who is a Slytherin to boot?"

"By the tone and manner in which you are asking the question, I gather not," Severus responded sardonically. The impudence earned him a hard glare. "Moira, when we were students together you were known for your ability to negotiate successful compromises. Surely there is another option that will allow for the protection of your Department and secrets while preserving the sanctity of our minds."

"Hermione couldn't pay the price, so you will? Is that it? Tell me, Snape, will you permit yourself to be bound to another's service and cause once more? Because that's the only way I am willing to compromise with you."

"Name your price," Severus said quietly, and Hermione flinched at the repressed sentiment contained in those three words. _To ask that one thing of him..!_

"Severus-" she exclaimed, but he cut her off.

"Let me make my own choices in this, Hermione. As I said, a good deal of the blame goes to me as well." His gaze returned to Moira. "What is the price?"

"First, you will make a magically binding vow of silence regarding the events that took place."

"I offered to do that before, and take no exception to it now." Severus' deep voice was calm and sure at her side.

Moira's mouth twisted. "Ahh, but there are only two conditions within the secrecy laws governing the Unspeakables that permit me the freedom to make that offer. One, of course, is lifetime employment with the Department of Mysteries, which is how Hermione has been bound. The other choice is a vow of secrecy woven into undissolvable marriage bindings. Luckily for you, Hermione put in for a relationship exemption weeks ago. Your security clearance was completed yesterday. What will it be, Snape? Employment or marriage?"

Hermione felt like she had just been hit by a Bludger, shock stunning her into silence. _What? Is she really going to let him keep his memories? Is she breaking her own rules for us?_ A rush of hope made her lightheaded, and she clutched at the chair.

"Marriage is completely out of the question," Severus replied coolly, and Hermione closed her eyes at the fierce stab of pain his statement provoked. It appeared that his forgiveness only went so far, and she couldn't blame him for it.

 _It's not as if I have shown myself as trustworthy in any of this,_ Hermione reasoned, taking a measured breath in. _I have no reason to be hurt by his quick dismissal. I should be over the moon that there is a solution that doesn't involve taking his memories… and after all, the dynamics of our relationship haven't exactly been healthy. One perfect night together and weeks of fighting are not any sort of foundation for a marriage. Regardless of any attraction that lays between us- regardless of my feelings- marriage is a massive step. If this is what it takes for Severus to keep his memories and mind intact, then so be it._

"What would the conditions of employment be?"

"We are painfully understaffed at this point. I would have you help to recruit recent graduates into our ranks, and if a particularly thorny question arises concerning potions, be available to provide assistance. I will use you as a consultant, not as an Unspeakable or active agent. It would not be an onerous time commitment from you."

"You do understand that my vows and duties to Hogwarts would always come first. I will not put the school at risk just because of some Ministry cock-up or hare-brained initiative that needs to be sorted out."

Moira returned his frosty glance. "Naturally. A stronger Hogwarts would be in our favour, as well."

"And this would be all agreed upon in a signed, magically-binding contract? Standard employment conditions and restrictions?"

"Yes."

Severus narrowed his eyes. "Don't get snippy with me, Moira. We are both too much of dyed-in-the-wool Slytherins to trust promises made blindly or in the heat of the moment."

"And you know that I would far rather gain a new agent, even in a limited capacity, than lose one of my best and be forced to obliviate both of you. It behoves me to act in good faith in this situation. Are we agreed?"

"Yes, with one further condition," Severus said. "You will not unduly punish Hermione for what happened. No re-assignments to far off shiteholes, no endless queue of onerous tasks assigned, and she is not to be given every single wildly dangerous case that comes up in retaliation for what has happened."

"You dare dictate how I manage my people at a time like this?"

"I do, yes." He leaned back in the chair. "Note that I said 'unduly', Moira. Discipline is discipline, but given her condition, I would say that any punishment you could devise would be superfluous at this point."

Moira said nothing, anger making her go thin-lipped.

"I will not have her broken for this," Severus warned flatly, magic imbuing his words with power. "Moreover, I know my worth. If I agree to this, you not only get me, you gain a foothold into Hogwarts and her mysteries."

From the way that Moira's jaw briefly tightened, Hermione knew that Severus had scored a hit. "Fine," she spat. "If you'll permit us access to the Restricted Section of the Library, I'll even sweeten the deal. Should Granger wish to retain her commission as an Unspeakable in a month, I'll allow it rather than forcing her to stay in the ranks as a general researcher."

"Only two people from the Department are allowed in per month, no material can be taken from grounds or copied without my express permission, and anyone working in the Library cannot disrupt student or staff research," Snape countered.

"Agreed. Do we have a deal, Headmaster?"

"So mote it be," he replied formally, and all three of them jumped when with a sudden whoosh and a flash of silver, a snowy owl Patronus appeared in the lounge.

"You are perilously close to being late in your return, Burke. This medicine can't take itself. Get the patient back here before I take it out of your hide rather than hers," a male voice intoned crossly before the owl dissipated into nothing.

The Head of the Unspeakables actually rolled her eyes at the threat. "Granger, we need to leave before your clever clogs of a Healer gets even more impatient than he already is."

Numbly, Hermione staggered up from the sofa and Severus' lap, thoroughly discomposed by the unexpected turn of events. She wanted a good cry. She wanted to laugh. Mostly, though, Hermione wished to be alone so that she could put herself back together and repair some of her fractured masks that protected her from the world. Fleetingly, she wondered if this was a trap, but no; while Moira could be ruthless, she never, ever offered false succour.

Severus stood up next to her, a large hand on the small of her back providing badly-needed balance. Hermione took an obedient step forward, but Severus stopped her. "Moira, I need two more minutes."

"Don't push your luck, Snape. I need to get her back to take her potions. She is quite ill."

"And I only need two more minutes. Two for the price of one, remember?"

"Fine," the woman bit off. "Come hell or high water, I am leaving in two minutes with Granger in tow. Make it brief." Burke turned around and walked back to the kitchen.

Severus stared down the hallway, and with a huff, cast a privacy spell. His lean frame was tense, and Hermione could see apprehension in how he held himself back from her. There was an unfamiliar emotion in his eyes—fear?—and combined with his earlier words, her heart started to pound uneasily.

"Hermione… I have to know. Can there ever be anything more between us?"

A great gasp of air escaped her, and Hermione went weak-kneed at his inquiry. Marriage question aside, his speech about forgiveness hadn't just been placating nonsense; he did care for her. _And just maybe, Severus can forgive me…_

"I rather thought that you had already claimed me," she said shakily, daring to hope. "In the library the night of the attack. Was I wrong?"

Long arms went around her in an instant, the harsh world cut off by the security of wool and warmth. _It will be okay… everything is going to be alright…_

"You weren't wrong. But I would not hold you to a decision made under duress. If you really want me as a life partner, I am entirely yours." Severus low voice rumbled over her skin, and she hugged him tighter.

"Did you consider it? Marrying me instead of taking the offer of employment?" Hermione blurted, and felt Severus take a sharp breath in. She looked up.

His hand cupped her cheek gently, and their gazes held for a breathless moment.

"Of course I did. But I told you- I won't hold you to a decision made under duress. Marriage, any binding of that magnitude… it should never be used as a weapon like that. To start a relationship with those sorts of dynamics is a recipe for disaster."

"Be that as it may, I would have done it, and done it gladly." She gave him a shaky smile, wondering why she felt like weeping again. "And it wouldn't have been just to protect you. Severus. I… care about you deeply."

"You humble me, Hermione." Gently, and giving her plenty of time to demure, Severus leaned down and kissed her. Unlike previous times, it wasn't a ferocious meeting of lips, or a gesture full of desperation. Rather, it was a tender exploration, flavoured with curiosity and banked passion. It was a beginning to something, not the prelude to a finish. They eventually parted with a shared sigh, and Hermione rested her head on his chest, hearing the comforting beat of his heart.

"It would have been foolish, anyway," she reasoned regretfully, letting the exhaustion of the last month creep over her now that she was safe. "This way is far better. After all, we might know a bit of each other, but we don't know each other's habits and preferences, all the little things that matter… and our communication, among other things, definitely needs some work-"

"Marry me," Severus interrupted, tone silken and compelling. "A long engagement would be the prudent choice, but I don't really give a damn."

Guilt—or maybe it was insecurity—forced her out of the sanctuary of his arms. "Severus… I wasn't trying to push. I just…"

"You're tired," he finished for her, bridging the gap by once again embracing her. "And you broke all of your rules—moral, ethical, hell, even common sense—to be with me and protect me. And you've paid a painful price for those choices, and need to know that this is real, that it won't disappear like a puff of smoke on the wind. That you do, in fact, have some solid claim to me."

"Yes," Hermione whispered, stunned that he could articulate something that had only been a nebulous swirl of sentiment within her. "How did you know?"

"My love… I broke all of my rules, too. I need you just as much. These last weeks, thinking you were dead… it put a lot into perspective."

He caressed the sensitive line of her jaw with his knuckles, and she melted into his touch. Leaning in closer, Severus brushed his mouth over hers softly, this kiss healing some of the bruised vulnerability that darkened her soul. Hermione lifted her hand to the nape of his neck and let her fingertips drift into the fine black hair, pulling him closer. She welcomed the subtle intrusion of his tongue, a new sort of weakness filling her.

"You know," he murmured, breaking away reluctantly, "it's customary to answer the question when someone asks you to marry them."

"We have a lot to sort out, but my feelings aren't going to change. I'd rather do that sorting as your wife, or at the very least, your fiancée. Severus… I love you."

Severus laughed, and the sound was beautiful enough to make angels sigh. "I love you, too. And you are right: we need time to figure out how to do this correctly. Codependency isn't a good look for either of us."

"And?" she pressed when an answer wasn't immediately forthcoming.

"I want to be your husband rather sooner than later." One black brow went up in a supercilious manner. "Besides which, I am given to understand that wives are particularly good at nagging and cleaning up husbandly messes."

"Are you giving me permission to boss you around?" Hermione asked with a mocking leer, buoyed by the warm humour in his gaze.

Severus' lips drifted down to her throat, and he nibbled softly until she gave a faint moan. "As it will clearly be mutually beneficial for both of us, yes. I've also heard that the registry office in North Yorkshire is quite beautiful this time of year-"

"Ahem…" Moira Burke said from the doorway, the faintest of smiles on her lips. "Your two minutes are up. Snape, am I to assume that you are coming with us?"

They turned as a couple to look at the Head of the Unspeakables wearing identical smirks.

"Yes," Snape said firmly. "Among other things, I have a highly detailed contract to sign, do I not?"

Moira shook her head. "Why do I have the sinking feeling that you two are going to keep me busy?"

"Because unlike many in Wizarding Britain you're not an empty-headed numpty?"

"Yes, yes, save the brown-nosing for a time when it might work, Granger. You are still on my shit list."

"Arms around my neck, Hermione," Severus ordered, bending his knees so that she could reach. She complied without hesitation, and with a show of careful strength, he picked her up, cradling her in his arms.

Hermione gave a startled squeak. In three easy strides, they were out of the lounge and entering the kitchen. "Severus, what are you doing?"

He gave her a chiding look. "Carrying you across the threshold, albeit in the wrong direction. Still, it's the sentiment that counts, isn't it?"

"I can walk," she protested, but it was half-hearted at best.

"I'm sure you can, but I would rather you expended all of your energy in getting better. If you are going to be my golden girl, I would prefer that it be a metaphorical reference, not a literal statement of fact because you are in advanced-stage liver failure."

"I love you," Hermione repeated softly, and had the pleasure of watching Severus' lush mouth curve into a smile.

"I love you, too." His suddenly sardonic gaze shifted to Moira. "Now, where the hell is your super-secret spy cave located? We have far better things to do than wait while you faff about with a load of bureaucratic bumf…"

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A.N.~ And another safe landing... thoughts?
> 
> Prompt: What is Hermione doing by running down on a Yorkshire hill? And why is Snape chasing after her? What is hidden in Hermione's valise?
> 
> A massive thanks to everyone who helped in the writing of this story, the amazing mods of the SSHG Gift Fest for hosting the highlight of my fandom year yet again, Cabepfir for creating such a fun prompt, and all you wonderful readers who continued to show this story some love. Cheers to all who left comments on the last chapter- it brings me so much joy to read your reactions!
> 
> If you've enjoyed this, please check out my profile for other stories. Indeed, in about an hour or so, I will be posting the first chapter from the 2019 round of the SSHG Gift Fest for you all to enjoy, entitled 'A Good End'. As a teaser, here is the synopsis- 'Memory is only half the story when it comes to the bonds uniting love and family; when Severus Snape learns that Hermione Granger has lost her parents after the war, he steps in to help her restore their memories. But not all goes to plan, in ways both beautiful and terrible. Can Hermione forgive Severus after he breaks trust with her?'
> 
> As always, happy reading and be well!


End file.
